


Forgetting Zachary Quinto

by withthepilot



Category: Actor RPF, Glee RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Comedy, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chris gets dumped, he decides to take a trip down under to get away from it all. When the object of his past affections shows up, new beau in tow, it throws a major wrench into his healing process but it also leads him to a newfound crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by/liberally cribs from the plot of _Forgetting Sarah Marshall_. Written for the Reel Love challenge over at jim_and_bones on LJ. It's a finished story so the chapters will come quickly. Contains lots of pop culture references, Sylar, and a sprinkling of Anne Hathaway. 
> 
> Thanks a gazillion to starsandgraces, my excellent and darling beta.

_Welcome back to_ Holla at Hollywood _, your first and last stop for all things happening on the small and silver screens! Today we're catching up with Zachary Quinto, star of Wednesday night hit_ Brains _. After the abrupt cancellation of everyone's favorite sci-fi superhero series_ Heroes _, fans of Quinto's scalp-happy character Sylar let NBC know they wouldn't rest until they got more! After fourteen separate petitions, the self-described "Sarmy" landed Quinto back on the network—and what started as a mid-season spinoff has since become one of primetime's hottest shows._

 _[cut to clip of_ Brains _]_

_SYLAR: You know what I love most about you, Rebecca?_

_REBECCA: [breathlessly] What is it, Sylar?_

_SYLAR: Your beauty. You're so gorgeous; you can have anything you desire. You don't ever have to think or exercise your brain. [lifts a single finger in the air, smiles deviously] And since you're not using it…mind if I borrow it?_

_REBECCA: [screams as a red, bloodied line appears across her hairline]_

_Ouch! Looks like it didn't work out too well for Rebecca. In real life, Quinto only has eyes for Chris Pine, one of the regular writers on the series who's responsible for finding Sylar fresh brains to play with every week. The pair has been inseparable for nearly three years now, and they've been seen wining and dining each other all over Hollywood. But don't worry, ladies and gents—there's still plenty of Sylar and_ Brains _to go around._

_[cut to red-carpet interview with Quinto, who smiles bashfully]_

_"No, I'm not really a serial killer. I just play one on TV."_

"Did they have to use such a corny clip?" Chris mutters to himself. He changes the channel and glances at the _New York Times Magazine_ on the coffee table, which is open to the four-page feature on John Cho, that insufferable writer everyone's jizzing their collective pants over. Chris was using it as a way to distract himself from his work before it got too painful to read and he switched to TV. He scoops it up and starts again where he left off.

_Cho, looking dapper in an impeccable suit, tailored to perfection, leans away from the table and gazes across the street. He sips his cappuccino and crosses his legs. Like this, the young novelist seems content to simply sit back and watch the world unfold around him as he takes mental notes._

_"It's hard to stay mad about anything in this world when there’s so much beauty," he muses between sips. "Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, and my heart fills up like a…like a balloon that’s about to burst."_

_Across the street, a young woman breaks her high heel in a sidewalk grate and jolts forward, nearly falling. Cho gasps, obviously moved by the moment. He pulls a small Moleskine from his jacket pocket and begins to write. In no time at all, he has filled six pages with what could be the seminal text of his next masterpiece._

"Okay, seriously?" Chris says to no one. "That's a line from _American Beauty_. Like…word for word." He throws the magazine down on the table. "Does no one at the _Times_ remember that movie? It won the fucking _Oscar_. Jesus."

But as much as Chris would love to sit around all day, muttering under his breath about some hack writer who makes more money than him, it doesn't matter. None of it does, because Zach is coming home today and Chris is going to get _laid_ as _hell_. He's been puttering around the house for the past two weeks while Zach's been filming on location, with nothing but the many framed photos of them together to keep him company. Shitty _Times_ article about an overblown asshole aside, the TV clip about him and Zach puts a spring in Chris' step as he heads to the bathroom and takes a shower for the first time in…two days? Three? Well, who's counting. The important thing is that he's going to be clean and horny by the time Zach gets back. He even trims his pubes for good measure. Only the best for his boyfriend.

When Chris gets out of the shower, towel slung around his waist, he's surprised to find Zach in the living room, already waiting for him.

"Whoa, hey," Chris says, grinning. "You're early. What'd you do, switch your flight? Man, you just couldn't wait to get a piece of this, could you?"

Zach merely lifts an elegant eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest.

"Chris," he says flatly. "I'm sorry, but it's over."

Chris' jaw drops in shock—and so does his towel.

"Oh, my god." Zach covers his eyes and groans. "Don't try to tempt me with that thing. Put it away."

"What the _fuck_ , Zach? You're breaking up with me? You're gone for two weeks and then you just show up and announce it like that?"

"No, seriously, Chris. Go put on some shorts or something. All I can see right now is your cock. Your cock is everywhere."

"And it was really fucking happy to see you before you walked in and broke my heart, you complete and utter _asshole_. We've been together for _three years_!"

"Which is why I didn't do it over the phone!"

Chris sits down heavily in his favorite armchair and runs his hands through his hair, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. He just can't believe Zach is _doing_ this to him after, well…everything. Zach breathes an audible sigh of relief once Chris' dick is hidden from view and steps closer, touching Chris' cheek.

"Christopher, look at me," he says. When Chris does, Zach gazes back at him in that aggravating way of his, as if he's talking to a dumb and petulant child. "We both know it's been over for a while. We've grown apart. I know it's going to be difficult, what with working together on the show and all, but…"

"If you're worried I'm going to write a scene where a piano falls on Sylar, well," Chris mutters. "You probably should be."

"Oh, Chris. It's _Sylar_. You know he'd survive somehow."

"I'm the _writer_ , remember? I'll kill your ass if I—" Chris frowns as he looks at Zach's hand and notes the neat, manicured fingernails. Come to think of it, Zach's eyebrows are also plucked to perfection. He tilts his head and scrutinizes him. "Holy shit. You're seeing someone else, aren't you?"

"No," Zach says quickly. Then he shrugs one shoulder and looks away. "I mean. It's none of your business."

"But…you said I was the best you've ever had!" Chris motions to his dick. "And the biggest! The _biggest_ , Zach."

"I know, Chris." Zach looks him up and down and sighs. "Honestly? That's what makes this so difficult."

And just like that, just as Zach said, it's over. He walks out and leaves Chris sitting there in the armchair with tears in his eyes, holding his dick. It's not the first time this Chris has found himself in such a position, but it's definitely the most painful.

*

"You know, I never liked him." Anne peers at Chris from across the kitchen as she eats strawberry ice cream. She shrugs and pulls her spoon slowly from between her lips. "I'm just saying. If it helps."

Chris pauses in eating his giant bowl of Cocoa Puffs and gives her a blank stare. Anne, his high-school sweetheart, may be his best friend and confidante to this day, but she drives him crazy sometimes.

"You never liked him. And you never thought to tell me that once during the entire three years that I dated him?"

"It didn't seem like the right time. You were so in love." She holds up the pint of ice cream. "But now that you're alone and eating your weight in junk food, I thought the sentiment might be appreciated."

"How could you possibly think you're helping?"

"I'm just saying, I think you could do a zillion times better than that self-absorbed size queen. So what if he's gorgeous and has his own TV show? You write for that show _and_ you're super hot. In fact, you're the most talented writer I've ever met and you're wasting your time with this stupid-ass brain show, and anyone _with_ a brain can see that. So go out and put your dick in some willing asses."

"I _have_ been," Chris says, sulking. "I've already had at least four crappy one-night stands, and each time, I ended up getting bored in the middle. I had to think about that time Zach and I had hate sex at IKEA, just to finish."

"Hate sex at IKEA?" Anne repeats. Chris opens his mouth, ready to tell her all about that massive fight in the kitchen section over goddamn _stools_ , of all things, followed quickly by Zach bent over the counter in one of the pre-made rooms, pants around his ankles, babbling nonsense as Chris fucked a few umlauts into his vocabulary. Anne, with her uncanny ability to see inside Chris' brain, holds up her hand and cuts him off. "Stop," she says. "Keep your dirty, primary-colored, Swedish sexcapades to yourself."

Chris shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "It was hot, okay?" he says around his food.

"I'm sure the IKEA employees loved it."

"All anyone wants to talk about is Zach, anyway. As soon as I tell them what I do for a living, it's like, 'Ooh, that guy is sooooo hot! Can you give me his number?' It's bad enough that everything in this apartment reminds me of him." He grunts and motions to the cabinets. "I'm up to my asshole in boxes of flaxseed granola bars and quinoa. I tried to donate them to a homeless shelter and they told me to get out and never come back."

"I'm surprised that was all they did." Anne walks over and kisses Chris' forehead gently, then sits down beside him. She's beautiful, a real-life angel, and Chris knows she has a million better things to do than sit here and watch him sulk. On the other hand, she's always been good at whipping him into shape, at doling out the honesty in spades, and that's what Chris needs right now. Which is why he's surprised when Anne looks at him thoughtfully and says, "Why don't you get away from it all? You know, take a vacation?"

"A vacation? To where?"

"Well, I'd suggest a remote cabin somewhere, so you can actually do some work on that brilliant novel of yours, but knowing you, that's never going to happen." She kicks him lightly under the table. "Idiot."

"Ow." There's the ballbuster he knows and loves. Chris frowns and looks into his bowl. "Maybe you're right. I should go somewhere really far away. Like, a place I've never been or even really thought about."

"Siberia," Anne suggests. "The Congo? Mars?"

"What about…Australia?"

"Sure, I guess. Why Australia?"

Chris shrugs. "I dunno. I've always heard good things about it. Zach's been there a couple of times. He said there was this place in Sydney he really liked. Or near Sydney? I can't remember. I should text him and—"

"Oh, my _god_ , are you fucking kidding me," Anne groans, throwing her head back.

"What, I can't go to Australia because Zach has been there? It's a huge fucking country. Maybe I'll find myself in the Outback or whatever."

"You can go to Australia, but you're not going to talk to fucking Zach about it. Also, Sydney is nowhere near the Outback. But I'm sure someone would be willing to drive you out there and leave you to peel to death in the sun."

Anne gets up and puts the ice cream back in the freezer, then washes the spoon in the sink. When she lets out an abrupt peal of laughter, Chris looks up to see her holding a rubber butt plug, which was not so cleverly hidden in the cutlery drawer.

"What the fuck is _this_?" she asks. Chris feels himself turn bright red.

"We used it. Sometimes."

"In the kitchen?"

"Sometimes!" He's so busy blushing and diverting his eyes from the sex toy that he doesn't see Anne move to the sink and shove it down the drain, then reach for the garbage disposal switch—that is, until it's far too late. "Whoa, are you fucking crazy?!"

"The dick is gone, and all remaining vestiges of it should be, too. In the name of freedom!"

"Anne, don't! ANNE!"

There's a horrible crunching sound that whirs down to a shaky rattle, then silence. Now he has no butt plug _and_ no garbage disposal. 

All in all, he really could use that vacation.

*

The flight across the Pacific is long and Chris falls asleep on the trip from the airport to Bondi Beach, the final vacation destination he chose after minimal research and a shitload of beer. In his haste to get out of town, however, he neglected to make hotel reservations. When he walks into the opulent Bondi Royale Hotel and Resort, he figures the place is so huge that they have to have an available room for him.

"Nnnnnnope, not a one," the man behind the front desk says. His accent doesn't sound the same as everyone else's here, but Chris can't bring himself to try and place it because he's too busy ogling the dude and god _damn_. He's tall and broad—but not too broad—with flawlessly tanned skin and carefully sculpted dark hair. Hazel eyes with a depth of color that Chris couldn't begin to describe in words, no matter how many times he consulted the thesaurus. Not to mention the crisp white suit and violet shirt beneath, the top three buttons undone to reveal a whole lot of tantalizing skin. The sight alone is totally worth the cost of the flight, and the total obliteration of his savings account. Chris is so wrapped up in his lusty daydreams that he barely hears the man when he says, "Well, there is one room available. The Brisbane suite."

"Great," Chris says, looking up. "How much is that?"

The man eyes him critically and smirks. "Judging by your outfit, more than you can afford. Sorry, Mr. Pine. Should've booked in advance."

Chris pouts and touches his plaid shirt defensively. "Okay, first of all? That was cold. Second of all, I know. I _know_. This is so unlike me, I swear, but…" He shakes his head and exhales, frustrated. "Look, I just got dumped and I came all the way here from the U.S. and there were, like, _four_ screaming babies on my flight over, and—"

There's a flurry of activity behind him and Chris pauses to look back and see what's going on. And, hey, wonder of wonders—it's Zach. All the way over here, in Australia, in the exact same hotel as Chris. Of _course_. Because Chris' life just happens to be uniquely miserable that way. Zachary Quinto, in the flesh, signing autographs for giggling girls and fawning twinks, smiling that gorgeous smile that Chris used to believe was only meant for him. He doesn't realize he's gawking until the man behind the desk speaks again.

"I guess you recognize him," he says. "It's a real thrill when he comes through these parts. All sarcasm intended."

Chris tries to muster a smile and fails. "Yeah, I, uh. I recognize him from the other week. When he broke up with me."

"Shit. Really?" The man—Karl, his nametag says—looks between them and cringes. "I don't suppose you want to come and hide under the desk."

Chris blinks, letting a most inappropriate thought wash over him. "Yeah, um. No. Why, did he see me?"

"Judging by the way he's walking over here, looking annoyed, I'd wager yes."

" _Christopher?_ " And yeah, Chris would know that shrill, how- _dare_ -you tone of voice anywhere. Zach practically has it patented. "I can't fucking believe this. What the hell are you doing here?"

Chris laughs awkwardly and forces himself to make eye contact. "Would you believe that I'm secretly a government agent? And the past three years were all part of an elaborate undercover mission? And now that I've told you all that, I have to kill you?"

Zach folds his arms across his chest and smirks. "You don't even know how to program a DVR. Excuse me if I seriously doubt your espionage skills."

"I'm on a much-needed vacation, if that's all right with you," Chris says. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Also on vacation," Zach says. He looks a little nervous, his eyes darting around. "But seriously, did you follow me here? Because I'm really not into the whole stalker thing. I know some guys are, but I—"

"Quinto, I swear, I could write a fucking _sonnet_ about this ass," someone says, walking up and swatting Zach's butt, right in front of all of them. Chris is shocked to recognize the guy as John Cho, that pompous, pretentious asshole novelist who quotes Oscar-winning movies without proper credit and doesn't give a shit because no one is going to be brave enough to call him out on it; who interrupts an interview to write pages and pages of drivel without any regard for the other person's time or sanity.

Who is, apparently, the mystery guy currently boning Chris' ex-boyfriend. Which is really just a terrific turn of events. Exceptional, even. He's so thrilled, he could just puke.

"Chris, this is John," Zach says, reaching back to surreptitiously rub his butt. "John, this is Chris. My, um. My ex."

"How serendipitous," John says, shaking Chris' hand. It's a weak handshake, which somehow makes Chris feel the slightest bit better. But not really. "I love coincidences like this. Very inspiring. I'm John Cho."

"Yeah, I know who you are. I read the _Times_ piece about you."

"Oh, that thing." John rolls his eyes and laughs. "A little over the top for my tastes. You'd think I slept with her or something. At least then she'd have good reason to gush."

And seriously, could this possibly go any better? Chris shuts his eyes and waits for a robbery to start, or for the ceiling to cave in, _something_ , when Karl suddenly clears his throat behind him. He forgot the guy was still there. But he is, which is great—all Chris needed was an audience to complete this perfect moment of shame and self-loathing.

"Excuse me, sirs. But I believe I've found a room for you after all, Mr. Pine." He gives Chris a rakish smile. "The Brisbane suite. I hope you'll find it acceptable."

Zach looks like he's about to shit a brick. "Since when can you afford that?"

Chris swallows. "I just, uh, unloaded some stock. And whatnot. It was passed down from my grandfather. Like a family heirloom, but, you know. Stock."

John nods slowly and pulls out his Moleskine, taking notes. Chris somehow resists the urge to punch a hole through his face.

When they're finally gone, Chris turns back to Karl and forces a smile. "So, that was totally worth it for the look on Zach's face, but there's no stock. Obviously. But hey, if there's a spare supply room I can have for, like, two hundred a night, I'll take that."

Karl scoffs and passes him a plastic room key. "Take the suite. Hardly anyone can afford it. She gets lonely. Just don't throw any wild parties or wreck the place." When Chris looks at him in disbelief, Karl touches his forearm. "You deserve it, mate. Bad enough he broke your heart, but now he's running around with some twat, rubbing it in your face?"

"Well, he didn't know I'd be here."

"Still. Judging those twats. The both of 'em." He pulls his hand back and Chris immediately mourns the loss. "Elevators are to your right. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Pine."

"Fuck, well. Thank you. Seriously, I don't know how to repay you."

"Well." Karl tilts his head and grins. "Gratuities are more than welcome."

Chris nods, smiles, and nearly snaps the room key in half.


	2. Chapter 2

"So the hot front desk guy took pity on you and gave you the best room in the entire hotel?" Anne laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear. "As much as it sucks that Zach is there—and is creepy as _fuck_ , by the way—it sounds like things are looking up. Did you invite him to your room for a handjob? Blowjob might be coming on too strong. Definitely handjob."

Chris sighs and drinks from his likely not complimentary glass of wine. They're on an emergency Skype chat, which is good, because Chris' nerves are frayed and he doesn't know what he's more anxious about: the fact that he's trapped in a resort on the other side of the world with his obnoxious, unrepentant, fucking-John-Cho ex, or that he's got a sudden hard-on for a really nice hotel employee with a dazzling smile, whose surname he doesn't even know.

"My life is such a pile of shit," he moans, pressing the glass to his forehead. "What are the fucking odds that he would be here now? And with that guy?"

"You know, I read his book." Anne folds her legs beneath her on the bed and files her nails. She looks comfortable in her pajamas, probably almost ready for bed, considering that it's nighttime in Los Angeles. She gives the webcam a sympathetic look. "I hate to say it, but it's actually pretty good."

"Don't tell me that. I need him to be untalented and terrible in bed."

"Chances are, if Zach dumped you for him, he's aces in bed."

Chris shudders as he imagines Zach and John involved in some highly acrobatic sexual acts that involve pulleys and ceiling fans. Unfortunately, there's not enough wine in the world to erase that particular mental image.

"Thanks, I guess," he mutters. Anne sighs loudly.

"No, but come on. What about this new guy? He's attractive _and_ he took pity on your broke ass in your time of need. These are good signs, Chris. He could be a hot rebound for you."

"I don't want a rebound," Chris says. What he doesn't say aloud is what they both already know—that above all else, he wants _Zach_ back. Furthermore, he wants to know how someone can just snap his fingers and erase three years of a meaningful relationship, just like that. Did he ever really know Zach? Is Zach even a _person_? Chris looks mournfully into his glass and cringes when he feels tears prick at his eyes. "Look, it's probably late by you, so I'll let you go. I should try and sleep off this jet lag anyway."

"Oh, babe," Anne says. She blows him a kiss. "Look, you're on a beach in Australia. There's no point in moping around the entire time. Try to have fun and make the most of it, okay?"

Chris nods quickly. "Yeah, okay."

But what he does instead is drink more of the expensive wine, curl up in a ball on the floor with a pillow between his legs, and bawl like a baby. That is, until the phone rings. To his surprise, it's Karl calling from downstairs.

"You all right, mate? Someone rang and said it sounds like an elephant is dying. You haven't got any wildlife stashed up there, do you?"

"It'd be hard to get an elephant through customs," he says, sniffling.

"True enough." Karl laughs and it's a really nice laugh. One that Chris would like to hear again. "Look, I get off at nine. I can meet you for a drink at the hotel bar. If you could do with the company. You can tell me all your woes and I'll nod and drink beer and listen."

Chris nods, his cheek rubbing against the carpet. "Yeah," he says. "That sounds fun. I'll be there."

Except that what he actually does is succumb to his jet lag and fall asleep right there on the carpet of his hotel room. It's comfier than it looks. 

In the morning, when Chris finally wakes up, there are indentations from the carpet fibers all along his cheek and jaw. Luckily, he remained still enough to avoid rug burn. After he gets up to pee, he finds a note under the door—one that's definitely not from housekeeping.

_Standing up the guy who got you the fancy room. Pretty ballsy. Better think of a way to make it up to me, Mr. Pine. K_

He shuts his eyes tightly and wonders if he can get a cocktail at this time of the day. 

*

And hey, turns out he can. The woman who takes his order at breakfast is not only accommodating to his booze request, but also unbelievably gorgeous, with a killer smile and large, smoky eyes. She gives him a knowing grin as she jots down his request.

"Cocktail guy, huh? I like your style, handsome. I can hook you up."

"Thanks, that would be great, uh…"

"Zoe," she says. She winks at him and Chris wonders idly if insane beauty is mandatory to be a resident of this country. "Take your time with the menu. I'll be back with your drink shortly." 

After she leaves, Chris takes a moment to reassess his outfit. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt and board shorts, mainly because Karl didn't seem too fond of the plaid and there's a chance he might run into him. Unfortunately, the only shirts Chris brought with him are either plaid or white, so there's not going to be much variety in his wardrobe choices. His feet look bulky and pale in his sandals. It's a wonder he grew up in California, considering how stupid he looks in beachwear. Honestly, he doesn't even know why he chose to take a beach vacation at all. He'd rather be staying in a cabin somewhere, wrapped up in a thick cardigan with a steaming mug of something spicy and comforting, reading a book that doesn't suck and which John Cho has never heard of in his entire life because he's a philistine and Jesus, where is that goddamn cocktail.

His train of terrible thought is interrupted by the sound of a couple bickering at the next table. It's a cherubic-looking guy with curly hair and a petite brunette, both of whom look more than a little put out as they eat their breakfast. Chris can't help but listen to their bizarre conversation.

"I'm telling you, he was looking at me," the woman says. "I _know_ when someone is looking at me."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure he was looking at _me_ ," the guy counters. "I did read once that he's gay, after all."

"You're lying! Oh, my god. I need a second opinion." She turns and, naturally, looks to Chris. He tries his best to bore holes through his tabletop with his eyes but his inattention doesn't seem to deter her. "Excuse me, sir," she says. "But do you know that television actor, Zachary Quinto?" 

Chris tries his hardest not to flip the table over. "Never heard of him."

"You're kidding," the guy says. "Well, he's really famous."

"He's not _that_ famous," Chris mutters. "I mean…he can't be, right? Not if I haven't heard of him."

"He's on some show about eating brains or whatever," the girl says. "My boyfriend here thinks that the guy was checking him out, which…yeah, right." She smiles brightly at him. "I'm Lea, by the way, and this is Jonathan."

"He _was_." The man flicks a stray curl away from his face and gives Chris a bright smile. "Hi. Jonathan."

"Right, she said. Hi." Chris' eyebrows lift as he regards them both. He's willing to bet that not a lot happens in the bedroom in this relationship, aside from maybe hair braiding and reruns of _The Golden Girls_. "Chris. Nice to meet you."

"Here alone, Chris?" Jonathan _definitely_ gives him the once-over as he speaks, which Lea seems content to ignore as she powders her nose. "Don't worry. This resort is huge. I'm sure you'll meet someone special."

Lea snaps her compact shut and gives Chris a similarly lascivious look. "It gets pretty wild here at night. So many beautiful people and lots of…temptation."

Okay, so they're _both_ flirting with him now, which, while flattering, is more than a little bit scary. "Um, sorry, but I thought you two were…together? I mean, you did say he was your boyfriend."

"Well, of _course_ he's my boyfriend," Lea says. She puts on a scandalized expression, turning on a dime. "Are you implying that I'm not faithful to my boyfriend? Who I love?"

"No, I just—sorry. I must have, um, misinterpreted something," Chris says. Thankfully, Zoe appears at that moment with Chris' cocktail, which turns out to be a glass of cranberry juice with a mini bottle of Stoli on the side. 

"Here you are, sir. Our bartender isn't on shift until four, so this was the best I could do. And, here." She pulls a second mini bottle out of her pocket and winks. "To make up for it."

"No, that's…that's perfect. Thank you." Chris looks up at her in awe. "Seriously, you're like, my favorite person I've met here so far."

"For now," Jonathan says, licking his lips.

Just then, in a final segment of _Chris Pine, This Is Your Hideously Awkward Life!_ , Zach and John are seated at the empty table on Chris' other side. Chris goes completely still, like an animal caught in the headlights, and Zach gapes like a wide-mouth bass.

"Okay, no, this is not going to work. Is there another table we can have?"

"No, sorry, sir," the restaurant host says to Zach, though he can't seem to take his eyes off John. "You know, Mr. Cho, I've reread your novel six times. And every time, it's like I find something new that I've never noticed before. It's so nuanced. So _layered_."

"Yeah, thanks," John says mildly, taking a seat. He looks over at Chris and heaves a sigh. "Host guy. What was your name again?"

"Anton," he says.

"Great. Get me a giant cocktail, Anton. And step on it."

"Yes, sir. Right away, Mr. Cho, sir." 

Anton lingers a little bit, his hand brushing over John's shoulder, before John firmly shakes him off with a terse smile. Zach seems to give up on all hope of getting away from Chris and sits down with a dramatic exhalation.

"Fine," he says, unfolding his napkin. "I guess this is happening, right? So, here we go. Best breakfast ever. Fun times ahead."

Chris grits his teeth at Zach's sarcastic tone. "I can move, you know."

"Wait, do you know each other?" Jonathan says, motioning between Chris and Zach. "I thought you said you didn't know him."

"You said you didn't _know_ me?" Zach asks, eyes wide. "Well, that's rich. That is really fucking rich."

Lea chimes in, with a smile so wide, her gums show. "We're _huge_ fans of your show, Mr. Quinto. It's such an honor."

"Thank you, sweetie," Zach says. Chris knows the smile on his face is forced and fake, reserved for people Zach would rather stab in the jugular than carry on a conversation with. Across from him, John looks antsy, probably because people are paying more attention to Zach than to him. Luckily, that Anton kid comes back with John's drink and starts fawning all over him again.

"Here you go, sir. The bartender isn't on duty yet but I mixed it myself, just for you. I hope you like it."

John nods and smiles tightly. "If it has booze in it, I'm sure I will. Thank you."

"No problem. Say, do you need more room to stretch out?" He motions to where Chris is sitting. "Want me to grab this table for you?"

"Dude, I'm sitting _right here_ ," Chris says in disbelief. Anton looks at him blankly. And, in that moment, he gives up. "Fine, you know what? I'm gone."

At first, no one stops him as he throws down cash and a generous tip for Zoe and leaves the table with his drink. But Chris is barely halfway down the corridor to the hotel lobby when someone grabs him by the shoulder.

"Chris, hold on." It's Zach, of all people. Zach, who couldn't bear the thought of sitting two feet away from Chris, just five minutes ago. He gives Chris that overly patient, obnoxious look that he remembers vividly from the day they broke up. "Seriously, what's going on here?"

"What do you mean? What, am I not walking away fast enough for you?"

"No, I mean, what are you really doing here?" He gives Chris an uneasy look. "Because if you did follow me, that is seriously unsettling."

"I didn't _follow_ you," Chris hisses. "I'm trying to get _away_ from you. And the fact that you're here with that asshole is ruining everything."

Zach scoffs. "Okay, so it's my fault. That makes total sense."

"Stop twisting my words, Zach!"

"Look, obviously this is awkward. Really awkward. So why don't you just go back home and eat a giant bowl of Cocoa Puffs and make this easier on everyone?"

Chris grips his drink tightly, but not so tightly that it breaks in his hand. It's a close call, though, considering how angry he is at Zach. He swallows the rage down and gives Zach one of his own condescending smiles.

"Nah, you know what? I like it here. I've got a nice room, that bizarre couple just propositioned me… It's good. Things are good. I'm gonna stay."

Zach folds his arms across his chest and gives Chris a glare that could cut through glass. "Great. Sure. You stay, Christopher. And you have a grand time, okay?"

"I think I will. Maybe I'll write a sonnet about it."

The fact that Zach turns and leaves without a snippy comeback is Chris' first official victory of the day. He hopes like hell there'll be another.

*

"Mr. Pine. How can I help you today?"

Karl looks absolutely fetching in another light-colored suit, with a navy shirt this time. Again, he seems to have trouble buttoning it up all the way, but hey, they are on the beach. He seems to be all business after Chris' major screw-up last night, and Chris can't fault him. He figures the best course of action is to be honest about what happened—but that doesn't make him any less nervous. He drums his fingertips on the desk and licks his lips.

"Hey there. I just wanted to apologize for last night. The jet lag caught up with me and I passed out right on the floor, which seriously sucks, because I really, really wanted to get that drink with you. So I'm very, truly sorry for standing you up."

Karl shrugs. "It's a long flight. I get it." He motions to Chris' T-shirt. "Not feeling like your old lumberjack self today?"

"I decided to go with something a little less woodsy today."

"I like it," Karl says, assessing Chris with a smirk. "White and khaki. Very classic."

"That's me. Uh, classic. Like the Greeks." It's not the worst attempt at flirtatious conversation ever, but pretty close. Chris groans at how stilted it all is, no thanks to him, and rubs his hand over his eyes. "Shit. I totally blew it last night, didn't I?" he says. Karl's shoulders seem to relax a bit as he shakes his head.

"You didn't blow it. I'm just—well, it's difficult to properly flirt with you when I'm on duty, you see." 

"Christ. Of course. How inappropriate of me. I didn’t—"

"You're very high-strung, aren't you? I thought Americans were supposed to be so, 'Yeeeeah, hey duuuude, whatever,'" Karl drawls, screwing up his face as he lays down a terrible excuse for an American accent of the surfer slash stoner variety. It's so disastrous that it's fucking cute as hell. Chris snorts as he laughs.

"That's really good. You should be an actor."

"Yeah, maybe." Karl smiles vaguely, then glances at his watch. "Look. Tonight, I get off at ten. There's a beach bonfire thing I've plans to attend; you could come along. That is, if you can stay up that long."

"I think I can handle that, yeah."

"'Cause it may be well past your bedtime, I reckon."

"No, no," Chris says, laughing. "You got me. I fell asleep on the floor, hilarious, I know. But I'll be there. Promise and cross my heart."

"All right, then." 

Karl's smile is warm and genuine and Chris has to somehow stop himself from leaning over the desk and kissing it right off his face. Okay, so maybe he's not _entirely_ opposed to the idea of a rebound. Anne, for all her harebrained ideas, could be onto something this time. Not that he's going to ask Karl for a handjob. At least, not right now.

"So," Chris says, glancing around the lobby. "I've got…oh, ten hours to kill. Got any suggestions for fun things to do?"

Karl quirks an eyebrow and gives Chris a ludicrous look.

"On Bondi Beach? Mate, it's a _beach_. Go do beach things."

"Oh, right," Chris says, glancing toward the lobby exit. "Beach things."

*

So, Chris sits on the beach. And sits, and sits. He reapplies sunscreen like it's going out of style, until he can barely make out his own skin color beneath all the streaky white cream. He takes out his Kindle and reads for a while, under one of the hotel-provided umbrellas, and checks his email about twelve times. There's also his marble composition notebook, which Chris eyes occasionally. It's his most precious possession and contains all of his handwritten notes and passages from his novel-in-progress—the one Anne is always haranguing him to finish, like it's really that easy. It seems to be cake for John Cho. Maybe he'd have better luck if he switched to a Moleskine. 

After a while, Chris spies Zach and John spreading out a blanket and settling in for a steamy make-out session. He can only look on with his lip curled in distaste for so long before he has to collect his things and relocate. He's reminded of this morning, when he turned on the hotel room television, just to pass the time, and was immediately assaulted with an episode of _Brains_. Chris found himself cringing at the combination of his own half-assed writing efforts and Zach's overacting. He wonders now how he's put up with referring to this crap as his "career" for so long.

He's still lost in thought when someone suddenly tackles him to the sand and knocks the wind out of him.

"What the fuck?!" he half-screeches, half-wheezes. 

"Sorry, mate!" a very built, very tall man says. He's got a thick Australian accent and he grins down at Chris with a slightly wild look in his eyes. "My mates and I were playing a bit of beach ultimate! Thought you were one of 'em."

Chris grunts and tries to brush all the sand off his skin, but it's firmly embedded in the still-drying layer of sunscreen. He looks over the notebook closely to make sure it's not damaged. "Yeah, because clearly, I was playing Frisbee, what with the beach towel and umbrella in my hands."

"Honest mistake." The man is still grinning as he holds out his hand for a shake. Chris takes it warily. "My name's Bana."

"Bana, hi. Chris."

"Chris! Hey, Chris. You've got enough sun cream slathered on for three cases of melanoma, looks like."

Chris shrugs and looks down, the sand still itching him. Who _are_ these people and what kind of hotel did he choose? "I've read some scary things about the depleted ozone layer down here."

"Clearly you're not much of a beach bum," Bana observes. "Whatcha doing at Bondi, then?"

"Mostly trying to get away from my problems," Chris says. What he doesn't mention is how said problems seem to insist on following him around. Bana gives him a sympathetic look and clasps his shoulder.

"Tell you what, mate. I work for the resort. Today's my day off, but I'll give you a scuba lesson tomorrow. Free of charge, since I sort of flattened you."

"I wouldn't say _flattened_." Chris squints up at him. "That's very generous, but I'm not much of a water person. I mean, I can swim, but scuba diving doesn't really sound like my cup of tea."

"What, you afraid of the water or something?" Bana motions out to the vast, vast expanse of water just beyond the beach and shrugs exaggeratedly. "That's just the Tasman Sea! She's like a thimble of salt water, mate."

Chris furrows his brow and wonders how many surfboards this guy has fallen off throughout the years. "Do you actually know what a thimble is? It's like…tiny."

"Exactly! Look, I've got to get back to it, but I'll see you here tomorrow after brekkie, all right? In the meantime…" He motions around him at all the half-naked people on the beach. "Fuck your problems. Try to get laid!"

Anne would probably love this guy. "Yeah, I'm still not really…" Chris begins, but Bana's already running off. He rolls his eyes and gives a half-hearted thumbs-up to no one in particular.

*

It's hard to believe, but Chris is pretty sure Karl looks even better at night, when he's dressed down and out of his crisp suits. Chris has to remind himself not to stare so he doesn't come off as a _complete_ creeper. The beach party is about a fifteen-minute walk down the shore, closer to another hotel. Chris breathes in the salty air and clutches the strap of his canvas tote bag, which holds his notebook—it's an idea he took from John, to carry it around just in case inspiration strikes somehow. He feels more relaxed than he has since he arrived, knowing he's a fair distance away from Zach and John. Being close to Karl is nice, too. He's finally got him all to himself. 

"So, that accent's not Australian, I take it," Chris says, breaking the silence. Karl slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks, which are rolled at the ankles.

"Not Aussie, no. I'm a Kiwi. From New Zealand, that is. Moved here a few years ago and never left." At Chris' questioning look, Karl smirks knowingly. "To be with my ex, if you're wondering. And to attempt to pursue an acting career."

"Acting career?" Chris repeats. He groans and throws his head back. "Oh, for fuck's sake. And I made that stupid remark earlier like an _idiot_ …"

Karl laughs. "You didn't know. Obviously, it didn't pan out. My ex got me this job to make some cash and I've been doing it ever since. It's not so bad, though. Get to meet lots of different types of people: actors, models…lumberjacks."

"At your service." The joke gives Chris the warm fuzzies all over and he takes a moment to steal another glance at Karl. He's handsome as fuck, with a bit of five o'clock shadow at this time of night, the moonlight shimmering over his defined cheekbones. Chris feels like a bum next to him, in his stupid T-shirt and shorts, and his faint sunburn—so much for all that sunscreen—but he kind of can't bring himself to care. Also, he's _very_ intrigued by the way Karl keeps saying "my ex" and eschewing pronouns. "So, does your ex have a name?"

"Nat," Karl says, arching an eyebrow, all ambiguity clearly implied. "It didn't end very well. I sort of dropped a bombshell and the whole relationship imploded."

"Yeah," Chris sighs. "I know all about that sort of thing."

Karl slings his arm around Chris' shoulders and squeezes him gently. He seems to be very touchy-feely, which Chris is more than fine with. "Hey. If it helps, his stupid _Brains_ show is total shit."

"Tell me about it; I write for it."

"Oh, uh, really? Well…what I meant is that the _acting_ is what's total shit. Clearly, the writing is brilliant and that arsehole is mucking it all up with his complete lack of talent." 

"Okay, that was totally adorable, the way you tried to cover like that, but I'm going to call it and say that we're totally even for the dumb thing I said earlier."

"Fair enough," Karl says, nodding and laughing. "So, you write the genius show about the guy who likes to collect scalps and poke at brain matter. Pretty impressive, Mr. Pine. Is it as fun as it seems or more so?"

"It's, uh. Basically the most ludicrous, soul-sucking work ever." He cringes and shrugs. "It's a living, though. And it's always been kind of fun to work so closely with Zach. But now that we're broken up…it's probably going to be hell on Earth."

"Clearly, you should quit." Karl laughs again when Chris gives him an incredulous look. "Well, if you don't like it to begin with, right? And you don't need that grief, seeing that twat every day on set."

"I like the way you say 'twat,'" Chris says, trying to imitate it. "But, yeah. Believe me, I know. My friend Anne's trying to get me to focus more on my novel and leave the whole Hollywood thing behind, now that I've saved up some money."

Karl stops walking and turns toward Chris, his eyes lit up. "A novel, yeah? What's it about?"

"Ehh, I don't want to talk about it," Chris says, waving a hand. "It's boring."

"Is it in there?" Karl motions to Chris' tote bag, then makes a grab for it. Chris yanks it away just in time. "Oho, it must be. Come on, let me see."

" _No_ , Jesus. I'm trying to get to know you, not scare you away with my terrible, heavy-handed prose." Karl gives him a disbelieving look and Chris sighs. "Okay, look. I've had some stories published here and there, but nothing big. The novel is like my baby. I'm protective of it. And even if I get around to finishing it, it'll probably never get published because I'm not enough of an asshole to cozy up to the movers and shakers and actually make it happen." He kicks a small hill of sand, sending the spray everywhere. "I guess I'm no John Cho."

"Thank Christ for that. Someone gave me his book for my birthday and I couldn't even get through the first twenty pages."

"God. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in weeks."

Karl laughs and looks off in the distance, his face suddenly falling. He reaches out and touches Chris' chest protectively, which sends his entire body buzzing. But just for a second, since Karl's panicked expression changes the mood in an instant.

"Shit," he murmurs. "It's my ex. I heard she wouldn't be here tonight. Shit, shit."

"Wait, you mean Nat? Nat's a she?"

She certainly is—a very beautiful she, at that, her blond hair flickering in the salty breeze as she stomps toward Karl and Chris with a veritable entourage behind her. She looks fucking _pissed_ to see them, and Chris guesses right then and there that things are still a bit rocky between the two.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Karl? You weren't invited to this party!"

"Oh, so other people from Bondi Royale are invited and I'm not? Come on, Nat; you know that's not fair."

"I don't really give a shit! You're on _my_ resort's property now, and you're not allowed here! Especially not with some bloke, flaunting him in my face."

"Nat, when are you going to let this go, already? I've apologized a thousand times!"

Chris' eyes dart between them, until he recognizes the woman standing beside Nat, It's Zoe, the gorgeous waitress from breakfast, who was nice enough to slip him the extra vodka. Except now her hair's in a ponytail and she's wearing a bikini top and sarong, rather than her work uniform. Her body is _banging_. And Chris is pretty sure she was into him this morning, so he figures he can sweet talk her, or at least act as negotiator here.

"Hey, let's all calm down, okay?" he says, stepping between Karl and Nat. "Zoe, hi. Remember me? From breakfast today."

"Oh, yeah! The hot cocktail guy," Zoe says. She gives him a stunning smile.

Then she fucking _clocks_ him.

"What the _hell_!" Chris rubs his jaw, sprawled out on the sand. Zoe and Nat both look like they're ready to throw down with anyone in their way.

"Yeah, that's right, bitch!" Zoe spits, gesturing wildly. "I'm from New York! You think you can step to _me_? Brekkie's long over, punk!"

Chris yelps and grabs his tote bag, then scrabbles back to Karl, who helps him to his feet. "Look, we're leaving, all right? We're leaving!" Karl says.

"Damn right you are, Urban!" Nat says. "And don't come back! I don't want to see you or any of your little toy boys ever again!"

Chris is more than happy to let Karl hustle him away, back to Bondi Royale. Women can be fun, in Chris' experience, but not when they're screaming and throwing painful right hooks in the direction of his face. He looks back one last time and spies Zoe wringing out her hand, approaching Nat for a hug. Chris can't tell for sure, but given the angle of the moonlight and the circumstances, it looks as though Nat has tears welling in her eyes. He swallows, looks away, and follows Karl along the surf. Neither of them says a word the entire way back.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop gesturing so much. You've got to keep the ice pack firmly on your cheek."

Chris groans and looks between Karl and Simon the bartender, who was nice enough to provide said ice pack, once they got back to Bondi Royale. Karl hasn't stopped fussing over him since they got to the hotel bar, probably because he feels bad about what happened. He keeps giving Chris these contrite looks that are more adorable than anything else, goddamn him. Seriously, aside from the whole business with the ex, this guy is perfect. 

"Sorry, but I wasn't exactly expecting to get punched tonight," Chris says. "I thought Zoe liked me. I mean, she gave me that extra booze. And she said I was handsome!"

Simon looks up as he dries glasses with a rag. "It was Zoe that hit you? I don't envy you a bit. Woman's got a mean set of fists on her. She grew up in New York City, you know."

"So she said." Chris isn't sure when being from New York automatically gave someone a license to hit strangers. He glances at Karl as Simon leaves to fill another patron's order, and tilts his head. "You gonna explain what happened back there with the whole 'toy boy' thing, or should I just tell everyone that I got jumped by some roving beach gang?"

"I'm sorry, Chris. Truly." Karl meets his gaze, finally, and sighs. "Things between me and Nat didn't exactly end well."

_Clearly_ , Chris wants to say, but he holds his tongue. "Right. Well. You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to. It's probably none of my—"

"I ended it," he blurts out. "Because I'm bi. Or, well…I was in love with another bloke. And I didn't want to cheat on her because I cared too much about her. So I broke it off. And the way she took it, well. I might as well have cheated, I reckon. She's held a grudge ever since. I thought maybe she'd be past it by now, but…"

"Right, not so much." Chris swallows, not really knowing what to say. "You did the right thing, I think, but that still sounds pretty painful. I'm sorry."

Karl gives him a half-hearted smile and drinks from his beer. "S'okay. Just wish she'd move past it but I can't tell her how to live her life. We were this close to marriage and kids and the whole bit, before I dropped the bombshell on her. Guess I can't blame her for still being upset."

"No. But she didn't have to sic her friend on me. I thought for a minute that I'd wandered onto the set of the _Jerry Springer Show_ and she was going to beat my ass with a beach chair or something."

That makes Karl laugh, and Karl's laugh, in turn, makes Chris' heart flutter. 

"I'd never let that happen, promise," he says. His smile is warm though there's still a measure of hurt in his eyes. "Guess I just ought to stay off her resort's property. Not welcome there, obviously."

Chris frowns and readjusts the ice pack on his cheek when it drips down his palm. "But that sucks. All your friends and coworkers hang out there, don't they?"

"Yeah. But it's Nat's home turf. Her rules." Karl looks off, strands of dark hair falling over his forehead, and Chris is struck by a sudden urge to push it back and kiss him repeatedly and make it all better. He knows all too well what it's like to see the specter of your past everywhere you go, making your life miserable. Obviously. He searches for the right words to say, or maybe a kind gesture that won't seem too much like a come-on. Before he can find it, Karl visibly shakes off the conversation and looks at him with a renewed spirit. "So," he begins. "Did your novel make it out unscathed? I saw you dropped your bag; I was worried."

"Oh, yeah." Chris looks to the tote bag sitting on the bar top. "Maybe a little sand got in there, but no harm done."

"Good, 'cause I'm dying to have a look." 

"What the—hey, no!"

Karl grabs for the bag before Chris can stop him, and pulls out the composition notebook with a gleeful look. Chris fumbles around with the ice pack, trying to keep it on his face while he wrestles Karl for the book with his free hand. Karl just keeps him away with a palm to his unharmed cheek and Chris sputters, wondering what he's done to deserve all the injustices of this night. Also, Karl is _strong_. That is so going to be worked into his late-night fantasies.

"I just want to read a little bit!"

"But it's just a draft!" Chris protests. "Just all the crap that comes out of my brain without any editing process. It's shitty! It's _bad_. You won't—it's not ready!"

Karl scoffs and flips pages out of Chris' reach. "Come the fuck on. Who am I, some big-shot book reviewer? I'm just sampling here."

"Okay, I know, but…" Chris exhales and gives up, motioning to Simon. "Fine, go ahead and read. Simon, I need a refill."

And Chris tries _really_ hard not to look at Karl as he reads through Chris' writing, which is littered with marginalia and highlighted passages and other things that should make it unbearable. He thinks of all the times he tried to bounce ideas off Zach or read him passages from the work-in-progress, and the pained look Zach would get on his face every single time, as if Chris was asking him to climb Mount Everest. Eventually, he stopped trying. Chris attempts to distract himself by watching Simon mix a fresh cocktail, and only glances at Karl out of the corner of his eye twice. When he does, though, Karl looks totally engaged, a small quirk of a smile on his full lips as his eyes roam over the handwritten prose. He turns a page and Chris dares to look at him when he lets out a soft gust of laughter.

"What? It's really bad, isn't it? I know. You're laughing to keep from crying."

"Not at all," Karl says. "I was laughing because the writing is funny. The narrative's got this subtle humor that's very…well, _you_. I like it quite a bit."

Chris squints as he sips from his new drink. "Really? You mean it?"

"No. I'm fucking with you." Karl rolls his eyes. "Of course I mean it. And your friend Anne's right to pester you about it. I'd like to have a word with her regarding your unused potential, actually."

Chris rolls his eyes and downs his cocktail. He's sure Anne would like that, too.

Karl ends up escorting him back to his room, which is unnecessarily kind of him, but Chris isn't complaining. When they get to the door, Chris finds himself doing the creepy staring thing again, but he can't help it. Karl just looks so effortlessly dashing, standing there in the warm, overhead hotel lighting.

"So, what happened to that guy?" Chris blurts out, against his better judgment. When Karl arches one of his expressive eyebrows, Chris' knees wobble. Just a bit. "That, uh, 'bloke.' That you were in love with?"

Karl worries his bottom lip with his teeth and nods. "Oh, right, him. Didn't work out. I'd, well. I'd mistaken his affection for something more. Or something like that."

"Oh." Minus about six trillion points for bringing up that nasty memory. Chris fidgets and tries to backtrack. "Well, for what it's worth, he's crazy. Whoever he is. 'Cause you're great. I mean, you're really—"

"Ancient history," Karl says, smiling at Chris' idiotic rambling. Hey, at least someone finds it funny. "No worries, mate. Have a good night and take care of that cheek. Looks like the swelling's gone down." 

Then Karl _touches_ Chris' face and his fingertips are like glowing points of sunlight on his skin. Chris' brain goes a little fuzzy with the awesome signals he's getting and he takes the opportunity to lean in for the kiss he's wanted to steal since he first arrived. It's more than a little disappointing when Karl immediately shifts away from him and cringes. 

"Um, sorry," he says. "I feel a bit overexposed after what happened earlier. I reckon we're both in bad places right now. We probably shouldn't move too fast."

Chris blinks rapidly. "But…I defended your honor."

"You did." Karl chuckles and kisses Chris' cheek; the one that's not currently swollen. "Thanks for that."

Chris swallows and tries to blot out all mental images of ripping Karl's clothes off and mounting him on the carpeted floor of the hotel corridor. It's not easy, when Karl looks like that and smells like that and is generally just, well…this totally amazing guy who doesn't want him. Chris balls his hands at his sides and smiles tightly to save face.

"Yeah," he croaks. "Anytime."

*

The next morning, Chris seats himself as far away from Zoe's section as possible and gives his breakfast order to another pretty woman who hopefully isn't from New York. He tries to read from the latest issue of _The New Yorker_ on his Kindle but it's no use—he's distracted by thoughts of last night and what it may or may not have meant to Karl. Chris was so sure it was a date. It had all the markers of a date. If it hadn't gone so terribly awry, they might have ended up at that beach party, splitting a bottle of rum and making out under the stars. As it was, Chris got punched, said all the wrong things, and got denied when he tried to score a single kiss. Just one little goodnight peck.

Maybe it wasn't a date. Maybe Karl was just being nice to him. Chris is a guest of the resort, albeit a freeloading one, and Karl's job is in customer service. Maybe Karl thinks that Chris is ugly and his manuscript is fucking terrible. Maybe he tells every guest exactly what he or she wants to hear. 

Man, that would suck.

Chris loses himself in thought as he eats his eggs, though not quite enough to ignore the slick-haired snake that sits down at his table without even asking permission. In fucking Bermuda shorts, of all things.

"Hi, Chris," Zach says. He crosses his legs and smiles politely. It's a face that Chris knows means trouble. "Enjoying your breakfast?"

"I _was_. What do you want, Zach?"

"Where did you get that bruise? On your face?"

"Oh, that?" Chris touches his cheek self-consciously. The skin along his cheekbone has darkened a little, despite the ice pack, but it's not as bad as it could have been. "Walked into a doorway. No biggie. You know, the room I have, it's so big, I get a little confused when I have to pee in the middle of the night."

"That's weird. You always slept like the dead when we were together." Zach smiles as the server brings him a cup of coffee, which is a little odd, considering that he just got here and hadn't ordered it. He shrugs off Chris' confused look. "They know me here."

Chris tries not to scowl visibly. "Sure. So what did you want again?"

"Well, I just got some news. Not _bad_ news, I guess, but…news." Zach sips from his coffee and looks off into the distance for a moment. "My network rep called. _Brains_ just got canceled."

"You're kidding." Chris blinks, taken aback. He knew there was a pretty good chance it would get canceled before the season's end, what with the network nailing any show that doesn't meet their insanely high Nielsen expectations. As if anyone even owns a Nielsen box anymore. He also remembers seeing a "Save Sylar!" petition online somewhere a few months back. Linked on tumblr, maybe? But somehow, he never actually thought NBC would go through with it. The show's dumb as hell, but Zach's just so… _Zach_. He could carry anything, even a clunker like _Brains_. Chris licks his lips and shakes his head in disbelief. "Wow, um. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."

"Well, no, it's…" Zach starts to wave him off but then something changes in his voice. That cold façade falls, and he looks kind of…grateful. "Actually, yeah. Thanks. Me too. For both of us." He laughs awkwardly, flashing his bright teeth, and Chris feels his stomach drop at this sudden show of vulnerability. "Guess we're both unemployed now, huh? Though you must be happy. Now you'll have time to work on your own stuff. Your novel."

"Sure, but, you know. There's nothing wrong with a steady paycheck." Chris puts his fork down and squints across the table at Zach. "You sure you're okay? I know that show meant a lot to you, despite everything."

Zach shrugs, his strong, yoga-sculpted muscles flexing in Chris' direction. "I was definitely getting tired of playing the same character, that's for sure. No one wants to be a one-trick pony forever." He sips from his coffee again and swishes it around in his mouth. "I'm more sad than I thought I would be. I tried to talk about it with John and, well. That was a mistake."

Surprise. Shock. Awe. "No kidding? What'd he say?"

"He was just all, 'Good for you. That show was dumb anyway. Now you can do some theater or something.' And then he actually proposed that I come along with him on his book tour, which, _hello_? Can you think of anything more boring than sitting in a different Barnes and fucking Noble every night, listening to him read the same chapter of his book, over and over again? Like I'm some literary groupie or something."

_Well, aren't you?_ are the three little words that Chris wants to say so badly, it's like burning. He shoves a piece of toast in his mouth instead. And he fumes silently over the fact that Zach is even thinking about supporting that tool, when he never did a thing like that for him. It was always, _Chris, do you really have to work on that stupid novel tonight? There's a big party downtown_ , or _I don't get it. Isn't literature supposed to be, you know, interesting?_ As if John Cho's book is so wildly engaging. The truth is, Zach wouldn't know good writing if it bit him on his lily-white ass, but it still hurts that he deems John a better writer. His opinion used to mean something to Chris. Maybe it still does. Funny how Zach is getting a taste of his own medicine now.

"Well," Chris says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I'm gonna head off and, I dunno. Process this. Thanks for letting me know."

"Oh, okay." Zach fakes a smile, that sadness peeking through again. "Well. Nice sitting and talking with you for a bit."

"Yeah, same here. And, um…" He squints as he stands, offering a small gesture of sympathy. "I am sorry. I know what the show meant to you, so, you know. I understand."

Zach's smile widens, some of that long-lost warmth that Chris remembers returning to his eyes. "I know you do. Thanks."

"No problem," Chris says. And he forces himself to look away.

*

He's on his way to the beach, towel, sunscreen, and Kindle in tow and still thinking about the breakfast incident, when Karl flags him down in the lobby.

"Chris!" he says, appearing out of nowhere, and slightly out of breath. "Hi."

Chris turns and grins at the sight of him. It's amazing how just one glance at Karl immediately lightens his mood. Once again, he looks effortlessly amazing in another light-colored suit without a tie. And once again, Chris feels stupid in his plain white T-shirt and board shorts. He supposes he's been dressing the part of the unemployed in preparation for the real deal.

"Nice shiner," Karl says. He motions to touch it but drops his hand at the last minute. Chris squelches a decidedly unmasculine sound. "Listen. About last night."

Chris laughs faintly. "Oh, what? Got any other coworkers who feel like using me as a punching bag?"

"Not so much, no." Karl smiles and looks nervous as he fiddles with his hands. His nice, broad hands. "I reckon I sort of used you as one myself. I mean, not literally. But I wasn't exactly fair to you, turning you down after everything that happened."

"Hey, well, it's not like you owe me anything. I haven't exactly been the perfect suitor. So far I've stood you up by falling asleep on the floor _and_ I've gotten you in trouble with your ex. Next thing you know, I'll probably insult your mom or your childhood pet."

"Are you equating my mum with a dog, Pine?" 

"See? That was fast, right?"

"I'm joking, Chris." Karl grins and shakes his head, looking at Chris with what he can only describe as a fond expression. "You've no idea how attractive you are, do you? Everything about you. That twat really fucked you up."

" _Me_ , attractive? What about _you_ , with your hot accent and the whole Kiwi thing, and the fact that you seem to have some massive aversion to buttons, dear _lord_. You're like a one-man peep show walking around this place. I don't know how everyone here doesn't walk into a wall when they get a look at you. And if that's not enough, you're so cool and laidback and _nice_ , and I don't even know if you actually like me or if you're just humoring me because it's your job. Which, believe me, I'm not complaining, but it's really—mmmmph."

There's not much else to say after that bout of word vomit, mostly because Karl's got his head cradled in his hands and is kissing him in a way that definitely stretches the boundaries of "customer service." Chris kind of melts into it, his hands sliding to Karl's hips and pulling him just a bit closer. Might as well take advantage of this fortuitous situation. Karl tastes, smells, and feels as good as he imagined, and if this is a sneak preview of what's to come, he can't wait for the main event.

"Muh," he says when they break the kiss. Then, when he gets his grasp of the English language back, "Come upstairs with me?"

"Can't. I'm only on break. But I'll see you later? Tonight?"

"Yes and oh my god, yes."

There's no second kiss before Karl takes his leave but the smile on his face tells Chris everything he needs to know. And shit, he's late for his stupid appointment with Bana already, but Bana can wait; Chris decides right then and there to go back upstairs and write Anne an update about his ridiculously good fortune. He bends to grab his bag, which he gracefully dropped on the floor mid-kiss, and when he stands again, he thinks he sees a Zach-like blur in the distance. Chances are, it's just his imagination. His brain's a little addled. And if it was Zach, well…good. Chris hopes the asshole saw everything.

Or, well, at least a little bit.

*

After much shrieking and applauding and unnecessary hip thrusts from Anne, Chris ends the Skype chat and makes his way down to the beach. He's pretty late for his scuba lesson, and when he spots Bana, it looks like he's wrapping up another session with some other folks. Chris cringes when he realizes those folks are that scary pseudo-couple, Lea and Jonathan. They both look as though they're ready to climb Bana like a tree.

"Thanks so much, Bana. That was educational," Lea all but purrs.

Jonathan smirks as he towels off. "See you at the beach party tonight?"

"Yeah, reckon I'll see you there. Nice work today," Bana says. He swats both of their asses and Chris feels his eyes bug out of his head. Lea actually giggles, a real, honest-to-god, Betty Boop sort of sound.

"See you then," she says. Then, when she spots Chris, "Oh, hi, stranger."

"Hi, Chris," Jonathan chimes in. "Enjoy your lesson. The water's fine."

"Thanks," Chris says. Then, when they've sashayed away, "Whatever that means. Christ. Is everyone here perpetually horny?"

"Nothing wrong with horny," Bana says in that strong, almost briny Aussie accent. "It's paradise here. Might as well get laid, right?"

"Uh, sure." Chris isn't exactly sure how the two equate, but he goes with it. "Have you already, um…with those two?"

"Not quite yet, but I reckon the girl's got a fair chance tonight. Not so into guys, but he's got a nice mouth, that one. Maybe if he blindfolds me or I'm off my face. I could go with it. Why not, right?"

Chris squints and turns to glance at their retreating backs. "I dunno. Gonorrhea?" he ventures. Bana just laughs and scrubs a towel over his hair.

"You think too much, mate. Now, how can I help ya? Name's Bana."

"Well, yeah. I know. We already met yesterday."

"We did?" Bana tilts his head, poking a terrycloth-covered finger into his ear. He looks like one of those confused pugs from those YouTube videos, except maybe slightly more vacant. Chris figures this guy either smokes a _lot_ of weed or the scuba diving has deprived his brain of oxygen one too many times.

"Yes. Remember? You ran into me and offered me a free scuba lesson?"

"Did I? Oh, oh, right! The bloke with the stupid problems."

"Well, they're not actually stupid. I didn't even explain to you what was going—"

"Mate, it doesn't _matter_." Bana rolls his eyes as if _Chris_ is the idiot here. Hell, he probably is for putting himself through this. "Look, put your stuff down and I'll give you that free lesson."

Chris obliges for some reason, setting his bag and towel down on the sand. Then he looks around at all the other people on the beach and realizes that he should have left the bag upstairs. It's got his Kindle and his notebook, which he simply can't afford to lose or have stolen. Chris looks to the entrance of the resort and then squints at Bana.

"Look, can we hold off for, like, five minutes? I've got some important stuff in my bag and I wanna run it over to the front desk, just so I know it's safe."

Bana exhales, then swiftly smacks the side of Chris' head in reply.

"What the _fuck_?!" Chris shouts at Bana, for the second time in as many days.

" _Stop thinking_. That's your first scuba lesson, mate. Your brain is on constant overdrive; I can see that about you. You'll never enjoy a dive if you're constantly worried about what's gonna happen."

Chris hisses and rubs the sore spot on his head. He's taking so much abuse on this so-called "vacation," it's not even funny. "That's your lesson? You're not going to take me on a dive?"

"Oh, fuck, no. I reckon you shouldn't even be allowed into the water, mate. You need a good, long suck on your donger before that happens."

"On my…okay, never mind. Not even going to ask. Thanks for the quote-unquote _lesson_." Chris turns to retrieve his things but Bana stops him with strong hands on his shoulders, spins him around, and looks him straight in the eyes. It's more than a little unnerving.

"Seriously, mate. Try to unwind. You're on holiday in Oz, millions of kilometers from home. No worries and enjoy it, all right?"

It's more like thousands, but Chris is smart enough to realize that's not the point—and that pointing it out will likely earn him another smack upside the head. In a way, Bana's right. He came all this way to relax and get away from his troubles. And even though the main trouble followed him here, things are looking up. He's met a great new guy who's genuine and hot and actually seems to like him, and he's got the best suite in the entire hotel.

Or, well, he did. Because when he goes up there, that kid Anton is moving all of his stuff out of the suite and into the hall.

"Sorry, Mr. Pine," he says. "Bradley Cooper needs this suite, so we need to relocate you."

"Bradley Cooper, really?" Chris asks, blinking. "That doesn't mean I have to leave the resort, does it?"

"Nah, we found you another room. It's not as big as the Brisbane but just _wait_ until you see who's staying—"

"Yeah, no, great," Chris says, waving a hand. "I really want to stay, so wherever it is, I'll take it."

It's not until Chris is standing on the terrace of his new room that he realizes exactly what Anton was going to say. He looks over to the adjacent balcony and spots Zach reclining in a lounge chair, shooting sharp, bloody daggers in his direction.

"It was the only room available!" he calls.

"I'm so fucking sure!" Zach yells back.

Chris figures that if he jumped off the balcony right now and plummeted to his death on the beach, it probably wouldn't hurt that much. The sand would be firm enough to snap his neck and end it quickly. With his luck, though, he'd probably land on Bana.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the explicit rating comes into play.

Chris can only sit on the terrace for so long, what with Zach giving him that well-practiced death glare. He goes back into his room and sprawls on the sofa for a nice, long pout. Then, when that gets old, he strips down and changes into his trunks, figuring he'll go for a swim. When Chris heads downstairs, towel and sunscreen in tow, he hazards a glance at the front desk to get a gander at Karl, standing there all hot and hunky as usual.

Only weird thing is that Zach is there, too, having a conversation with him. _Zach_. And _Karl_. Having a _conversation_. Chris grimaces and ducks behind a marble column, out of sight but still close enough to hear them speak, once a rather loud family heads out of earshot.

"So, how far away exactly is that Italian place you mentioned?" Zach asks. He's using his infamous _God, aren't I so handsome and wonderful and don't you want to fuck my brains out?_ voice that Chris knows all too well, having heard it used on about a thousand other men besides himself over the years. Chris rolls his eyes and stifles a groan. That had to have been Zach he saw earlier, and Zach definitely saw them kiss. Why else would he be torturing poor Karl like this? It's not as though he doesn't know where to eat at Bondi Beach. He vacations here all the time. They know his drink order, for Christ's sake.

"Not too far, I reckon," Karl answers obligingly. "About ten minutes or so by foot. I could get you a map…?"

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. I'm pretty familiar with the area." Yes, familiar as hell, so of course he needs restaurant recommendations. Not that Karl can point that out, considering he's on the clock.

"Of course, Mr. Quinto." Chris peeks out at that moment and spies Karl standing there with a pinched look on his face, clearly trying to keep a smile plastered on for the sake of customer service. Chris sympathizes with his plight. He's a good actor, Karl; that much is evident. Still, this is bound to stretch the limits of his talents. "Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"Well, there is one more thing," Zach says, his eyes narrowing. "I saw you speaking earlier with an acquaintance of mine. Christopher Pine? Or, well. He's actually my ex, truth be told."

And, okay, maybe Karl does deserve an Oscar, because he merely arches a single devastating eyebrow and says, "Is that right? I had no idea."

Zach frowns slightly at that. "I'm pretty sure you did, considering that scene you witnessed the other day, but that's neither here nor there."

Chris bites his lip as he listens. For a moment, he thinks Karl is going to back off, decide that Chris isn't worth the living hell of dealing with Zach. And Chris wouldn't be able to blame him, since Zach can be a bitch and a half when he wants to be. He shuts his eyes as Karl pauses to form a response.

"Mr. Quinto, if you're insinuating that I disregarded hotel employee policy—"

Zach laughs, a brittle sound, and throws his hands up. "No, no, not at all. You and he are both adults. It's just that…well, Chris is a really great guy."

Chris nearly chokes on his own spit. He shoves half of his fist in his mouth to keep quiet. _Really great guy?_ What is Zach playing at?

"I agree," Karl says, sounding skeptical as well. "If you're worried about him…"

"Well, I am, a little bit."

"How so?"

Zach shrugs. "Our breakup was hard on him—and very recent. He's in a vulnerable place and I don't want to see him get hurt."

Karl blinks, looking incredulous. "You don't want to see him get _hurt_?"

"Well, I mean…surely you've dealt with other good-looking, lonely and heartbroken guests before. It must practically be part of your job description. Am I right?"

There's a tense moment of silence between the two men. Zach keeps a hand perched on his hip, his eyes piercing as he stares Karl down. Karl looks like he wants to reach across the desk and strangle Zach until he croaks. But he keeps his cool and reaches for his pen with one hand and the phone receiver with the other, giving Zach a dismissive look.

"Unless you need additional dining recommendations, Mr. Quinto, I have other duties I need to attend to."

"Mmm, yeah." Zach drums his fingertips on the counter. "You do have an important job here, watching over the desk and all."

Karl tilts his head as he gives Zach a fake smile. "At least I have a job. Now, if you'll excuse me. Sir."

News travels fast, doesn't it? Zach doesn't have much to say to that, so he just glares at Karl, nostrils flared, and walks away in a huff. It's…kind of amazing. Somehow Karl is even more attractive now than he was ten minutes ago. Okay, a lot more. Chris has the strong urge to go over there and rip the man's clothes off, right where he stands, but then he hears Karl on the phone with another guest, and it dawns on him that it's probably not a great idea. Later, Chris thinks, as he slinks off toward a side exit, making sure to stay out of Karl's line of sight. Definitely later.

*

The water feels great on his overheated skin, though Chris barely has five minutes to enjoy it before he spots a familiar face coming toward him.

"Fancy meeting you out here," John Cho says, swimming to his side with an oblivious smile. His skin is golden from the rays of the sun, unlike Chris' pasty hide. Chris is willing to bet John barely even needs sunscreen. He exhales and wipes the seawater out of his eyes, more frustrated than angry to see John.

"Jesus, it's like you two are everywhere. I must have been high to think that Australia was far enough to go to escape my problems. What are you even doing out here? Moleskines aren't waterproof."

John just smirks and flicks his wet hair back, managing to be effortlessly handsome, as usual. "I left it back in the suite. Along with my prissy boyfriend, who's currently throwing a shit fit about the fact that you're staying next door."

"Yeah, well." Chris bristles at John's casual use of the term "boyfriend," but finds the observation amusing nonetheless. He assumes John doesn't know Zach was just interrogating Karl in the lobby, which is also amusing, in its way. "Get used to all that if you're planning on sticking around."

"Mmm," John says. He looks pensive as he gazes into the distance. "He can be a handful. Killer ass, though."

"Yeah, okay. Bye."

Chris starts to swim away, desperate to escape this idiotic conversation and Cho's stupid face, but then John calls out to him.

"Hey, wait up! I wanted to tell you—I found some of your work on his laptop. It's good!" he adds, and that stops Chris in his tracks.

"You what?" He twists around in the water, expecting a wave of rage to shake through his body. Instead all he gets is a fuzzy feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this is actual praise coming from a bestselling novelist—albeit a wildly overhyped one—who got written up in the _Times_ —quite poorly, but still. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, man. I liked what you were doing with the narrative. I enjoyed how unreliable the protagonist was, while still managing to be compelling. And funny! It was funny, man."

Chris swallows and bites back a smile. He kind of hates himself for soaking up the compliments so readily, but it's not like John is obligated to compliment him. Chris has certainly never said anything flattering about _John's_ work, aside from commenting that it would make good kindling for a fire.

"Don't tell me you're actually a nice guy under all that douchebaggery," he says half-heartedly. John throws his head back and laughs.

"I guess I have my moments."

"Yeah, well, I resolved long ago to hate you forever, no matter what, so don't think you can tell me I'm a good writer and I'll suddenly forgive you for stealing my—well, for everything."

John looks at him skeptically. "You _are_ a good writer. Much too good for that dreadful fucking show; good riddance and let us never speak of it again."

"It was pretty bad, at that," Chris says, finally allowing himself to crack a smile. "Like, kind of the worst, actually."

"See, there you go," John says, waving a hand. "And trust me: It wouldn't have worked out between you and Zach anyway. He was _all over me_ when I met him at that Young Hollywood party. I didn't have to steal anyone. It was more like, 'Hey, do you like dick? Would you like to see mine? Well, here, let me serve it to you on a silver fucking platter.' Kinda hard to turn that down, you know?"

"The…the _Vanity Fair_ party?" Chris blinks rapidly as he places it. He was sick that night and couldn't go, so Zach attended alone. "That was like…a _year_ ago."

John squints and tilts his head, splashing his shoulders with water. "Was it? Huh. Fuck. Yeah, I guess it was. Time really flies, man."

Chris shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. There's a strong possibility that his skull might explode, which he wants to avoid, even if the resulting gore would attract sharks and result in John's much-deserved death.

"You've been fucking Zach for a year," he says flatly.

John furrows his brow and shrugs. "Well, I mean…not _exclusively_."

"Oh, my god. _Please_ go fuck yourself with something sharp and pointy, you unbelievable _asshole_."

Chris turns to make his way back toward the shore. For some bizarre reason, John actually follows him, splashing his back.

"Hey, Chris, man! Don't be like that! It wasn't personal!"

"Stop splashing me!" Chris shouts, splashing right back. "You sleep with my boyfriend and now you want to be _friends_? Start a literary salon together or some bullshit? It's not gonna happen!"

"Look, just because you're not accomplished enough for him," John starts to say. But he doesn't get a chance to finish that thought, because Chris punches him in the face. Or, well, he tries to punch him. He ends up flailing a little in the water and the punch morphs into more of a light slap that grazes John's chin.

Either way, it's enough to distract them both from the wave heading toward them, propelling a surfboard that collides with John's face. _Fucking ouch_ , Chris thinks, even as he goes underwater.

When he gets his senses back, he's lying on the sand with his wet hair dripping into his eyes. Also, Bana is waving at him, dressed in a wetsuit with his stupid scuba goggles perched atop his head.

"You all right, mate? I didn't getcha too, did I? How many fingers am I holding up? You remember my name?"

"The last time we talked, you couldn't even remember _my_ name." Chris sits up groggily and glances to his side. John is sprawled on the sand, totally out cold, blood trickling out of his nose. His stomach turns at the sight; he hates blood. Especially his own, but other people's blood isn't so great, either. Ironic, considering he's spent the past few years writing for a show that revels in bloodletting. "Jesus fucking Christ, Bana! Why are you—he's bleeding! Do something!"

"I will! Just assessing the situation. You're okay, and he's not. Now I know."

Chris curses and scrambles onto his knees, crawling over to John and getting sand everywhere. "John," he says, tugging on his ankle. He squints up at Bana. "I didn't think I punched him that hard! Oh, god, I killed him. I killed him with—with my seething rage!"

"Mate," Bana says, blinking down at him. "He's fine. Just got in the way of my surfboard. Stretcher's coming and we'll take him to the first-aid station. He'll be right soon enough."

"You were surfing in your scuba outfit?" Chris asks, his heart calming down a bit. "Why in god's name would you—"

Just then, John rouses, whimpers from a tickle in his nose and sneezes, spattering blood all over Chris.

"Uh, sorry," he slurs.

"That's cool," Chris mutters, feeling queasy. "I just…have to go puke in the ocean now."

And puke in the ocean he does, with Bana yelling after him about how he's going to scare all the fish. The little girl in the purple and pink tankini building the nearby sandcastle doesn't seem too happy about it, either. Chris groans in response to her violent shrieks. Clearly, he's not out to make any new friends today.

*

After a few anti-nausea pills, Chris wakes up from a nap and hears a knock at his suite's front door. He doesn't want to answer it but who knows; it could be Karl trying to see if he's okay, having undoubtedly heard all about his little misadventure on the beach with John and Bana.

It turns out to be Zach instead, standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking as beautiful as he ought not to be, if there were any fairness in the world.

"Hey," he says. "You okay? I heard what happened out there."

Chris runs a hand over his face. "I'm fine. Especially now that I've had a shower and there's no more blood on me."

"You always were afraid of blood," Zach says, quirking a smile. "Can I…um. Can I come in?"

"Sure." Chris blinks and steps aside to let Zach enter, closing the door quickly, as if someone will see. Not that he cares, but… "How's John?"

"He'll live. Mild concussion. They gave him some drugs and he's asleep in our suite." Zach sits on the sofa and smiles when Chris joins him, making sure to leave a few inches of space. "Amazingly, his nose wasn't broken."

"He sure was bleeding like it was broken." _And he'd deserve it, too_ , Chris thinks. Which reminds him of the reason he wanted to break John's face in the first place. "Hey, funny story," he says, tilting his head. "We were having a little chat before the surfboard thing, and you know what Ernest Shittingway out there told me? That you approached him at that fucking _Vanity Fair_ party I just happened to be too sick to go to, and you've been banging the guy for an entire _year_. While we were still together. You _dick_."

Zach's face falls before he pulls himself together enough to look indignant. "Well, I'm sorry about that, Chris, but I never claimed we weren't already sleeping together."

"For a _year_?" Chris exclaims, rising off the couch. Zach groans and pulls at his shorts to get him to sit down again and Chris squawks, swatting at his hands. "Hey, hey, none of that! Bad touch!"

"You vomited into the ocean. You shouldn't get overly excited, Chris. Sit down."

"You can't tell me what to do. In that—in that voice of yours."

"What voice?" Zach asks, using the same voice. He exhales and holds his hands up, where Chris can see them. "I'm not touching you, okay? Let's just have an adult conversation for once in our lives."

Chris folds his arms over his chest and looks away from Zach. He can't deal with the sight of him right now, not so soon after Zach's twisted the knife a little deeper into his gut with this new information.

"I'm pretty sure you defaulted on your right to adult conversations when you decided to cheat on me for an entire _year_. I mean…seriously." He pauses when he feels his voice start to shake, though he still doesn't look at Zach. "Was being with me so fucking terrible?"

Zach sighs and scoots a little closer on the sofa. Chris decides not to push him away…yet. "Of course not. The relationship was just—well, it was getting difficult for me. I cared a lot about you, whereas you didn't seem to care about anything at all."

"Are you saying I didn't care about you? Because that is just utter—"

"How could you care about _me_ when you barely cared about yourself?" Zach interrupts, raising his voice. "You didn't come to that party with me because you wanted to stay home and watch _Breaking Bad_ , not because you were sick. You just remember it that way because you got food poisoning from the Chinese takeout you had that night."

Chris swallows as it comes back to him. "Hey, _Breaking Bad_ is a really good show, okay?"

"That's just one example." Zach pushes his bangs back and shuts his eyes, processing his words, and Chris hates himself for how much he fucking yearns for him right now. "You were just so damn _sad_ all the time. About your job, your book, everything. It was like you were more invested in your relationship with the TV than you were in ours. And when John came around…I was attracted to him. To his drive. To the fact that he was invested in going somewhere and doing things and making something of himself."

"Maybe I would have been more invested if you'd shown any interest," Chris mutters, sinking further into the couch. "Suddenly you're all into being this guy's arm candy, and you couldn't even give two shits about what I was doing."

"I admit I didn't always get what you were doing. But that doesn't mean I didn't support you doing it." Zach huffs and gets up from the sofa, walking to the front door and frowning back at Chris. "And I don't want to be anyone's arm candy. You, of all people, should know that about me."

The door slams shut and Chris drops his head against the cushions. He has no idea how Zach cheating turned into something that was his fault, but somehow, it did. The worst part is that when he glances at the plasma television set mounted on the wall—a high-tech, shiny, and enormous version of an old friend—he gets the sinking feeling that Zach has a point.

*

Chris feels as though he's lived a thousand lifetimes between the moment when Karl kissed him earlier today and their actual date. It's all worth it, though, when he spies Karl sauntering down the path to the resort restaurant, his jacket gone and shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Two—no, three shirt buttons are undone, and Chris doesn't know whether to look at all that tan, exposed skin or the brilliant smile Karl is flashing him.

"Okay, seriously? You're getting a little fresh with these buttons. Taking advantage of my weaknesses. I mean it."

"Hey, you. Been looking forward to this all day." Karl touches Chris' hip and then leans in to press a chaste kiss to Chris' cheek. They look at each other, each laughing briefly before they share a real kiss on the lips. "Mmm. Heard you had a little kerfuffle out on the beach."

Chris pulls a face and runs his hands over Karl's biceps. "Ugh. Let's not talk about it and keep kissing instead. Good idea? Best idea."

Karl smiles. "But I made a reservation with Anton."

"I suppose we do need to eat food. To survive and whatnot."

"It's highly recommended."

But because Chris' life continues to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions, Karl's only just gone to fetch Anton when Zach and John walk up to the entrance of the outdoor restaurant. John already looks disgruntled and twitchy, which only gets worse when he spots Chris standing there.

"Jesus, this is a fucking tiny hotel," John mutters.

"Hi, Chris," Zach just says, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, um. Hi. Your face looks better, John." It's actually a little bruised but anything is better than blood pouring out of his nostrils.

"So, they're just setting our table and then we'll be—oh." Karl stops short when he sees the other two men and puts on his best customer service smile. "Mr. Quinto. Mr. Cho. Hi."

"Zach and John is fine," Zach says, smiling tightly. "It's Karl, right?"

Karl nods and they stand in awkward silence for a few seconds, until Anton comes to fetch them and nearly shits his pants at the sight of John and Zach.

"Oh, shit. Mr. Cho! I didn't know you'd be coming tonight. Shit. I'll get you a table right away. It might take a couple of minutes but—"

"Fine," John says, raising a hand. He touches the bridge of his nose self-consciously. "You know, it still _feels_ broken."

"If they said it wasn't broken…" Zach says, sighing.

Chris tries really hard not to fidget and nearly kisses the sky when Anton turns to them and lets them know he can seat them.

"Well," Karl says, obviously trying to be nice. "Have a good night. I'm sure it won't be long before you get a table."

John gives him a dismissive nod. "I'm not worried. Enjoy your dinner."

"Thanks, and you know," Chris says, his mouth going on ultra-polite autopilot, "if you wanted to join us, get in a little faster…"

"Sure, okay," Zach says, perking up. John looks at him like he's gone insane.

"What?" he asks flatly.

"Oh, you—" Karl starts.

"You—really?" Chris asks. "I mean…okay, if you're—"

John cringes. "You know, I don't—"

"We'd love to," Zach affirms. "Thanks."

Anton stands there, menus clutched in both hands, and glances between them with a blank look. "…Okay. I'll add two more place settings to the table."

"Great," Zach says, smiling.

"Awesome," Chris says, exhaling.

"Kill me now," John groans.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Chris whispers to Karl, once they're out of earshot of Zach and John. They're a few steps behind, likely having their own heated conversation. "It just came out of my mouth. Like word vomit. I don't know what happened. I thought I was just being polite. I had no idea he would actually say yes."

"Of course he did," Karl says. He gives Chris a meaningful look but then doesn't say anything more once they get to the table and they're all seated. Anton gives out the menus, which they all snatch out of his hands.

"Gentlemen, can I start you off with anything to drink?"

" _Yes_ ," they all say in unison.

Two bottles of wine later and the conversation is much looser, though still a bit awkward.

"So you're an actor, too," Zach says to Karl, pouring a fresh glass. "I had no idea."

"Well, used to be," Karl says. "Small industry down under. Bit hard to break into it if you don't know the right people."

"Oh, sure, well. That explains why you're working here, right?"

Chris wonders exactly where it would hurt most if he reached over and stabbed Zach with his fork. Karl doesn’t miss a beat, though.

"I was offered some things but nothing seemed worth my while. Mostly spinoffs of older, better shows." He spears a chunk of steak with his own fork and waves it in the air briefly. "And, you know, those things never pan out."

Zach's face goes dark and Chris bites his lip, reaching under the table to squeeze Karl's thigh in quiet delight.

"God, tell me about it," John interjects. He seems to be moving right along on the train to Drunkyville, probably due to the fact that he's on god knows how many painkillers. "That _show_. God, it was horrible. No offense to anyone at this table. Actually, Chris, you must be some kind of genius for coming up with semi-feasible reasons for a character to scalp someone in every episode. Kudos to your brilliant imagination."

Chris can't help but giggle into his wineglass. "Well, I mean, it wasn't just me. There was a whole writing team."

"Well, you all deserve fucking _Emmys_. I think my favorite episode was the one with the scene where he scalps a guy, then he has to scalp the girlfriend who was asleep upstairs, _then_ the family fucking pet, and then, because he sees all the bloodshed through the window…"

"The UPS guy!" Chris finishes, laughing loudly. "I know! It was this insane trail of destruction, and it's just like, _why_?"

"Honestly, why?" John repeats. "What is this character's motivation? What was even the point of the show? Talk about a network trying to milk a fanbase dry."

Zach gulps from his wine and pushes his half-eaten salad aside. "Well, it was a fun character to play and a good opportunity. It was the right choice for me at the time. It ran its course, just like anything else."

"Yeah, but you would think that as an actor, you'd want to search for roles that help you hone your craft," John says, waving his glass around. "Not just play the same underdeveloped character for years and years."

The conversation falls silent and everyone quietly sips wine until Karl sighs aloud.

"Crikey, this is awkward."

Chris coughs into his fist.

"Now it's _really_ awkward," John says.

"John, maybe you should stop drinking," Zach says. "You're on medication."

"I'll take that into consideration." John tops off his glass, just to show Zach how very few fucks he gives, and then smiles at Chris and Karl. It's kind of creepy. "You know, this is really great, you two going out. It's nice that you can move on, Chris. Everyone down here is fucking gorgeous—exhibit A," he says, motioning to Karl. "Why not get your rocks off while you're here?"

Karl looks confused and irritated, as if he doesn't know whether to feel flattered or pissed off. Chris clears his throat and shrugs, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Well, sure, but…I'm more of a get-to-know-you guy, truth be told. When I meet someone I really like, anyway." He hazards a glance at Karl and watches his expression shift into a pleased smile. It's a lovely sight.

Then Karl leans over and kisses Chris, right in front of everyone. Chris makes a soft, surprised noise and leans into it, savoring the feel of Karl's plush lips while he can. When they part, Zach's glare feels like twin lasers burning into his forehead. But Chris can't bring himself to care, nor can he stop smiling.

"That's sweet," John says, breaking the silence with a terse smile. "I like to fuck right off the bat, personally."

Zach exhales, looking flustered as all get-out. "He's just kidding."

"Not really. You and I started out with fucking, didn’t we?"

"Well, yes, but it's blossomed into something more."

John shrugs. "Because you wanted it to."

"You mean to tell me," Zach says, starting to seethe, his dark eyebrows bunching together, "that if you had it your way, we'd still be fucking casually, with nothing attached to it? Is that what you're saying?"

"What I'm _saying_ is that it's fun to have sex without all these fucking feelings attached to it. And giving me the third degree about it isn't exactly endearing me to the whole playing house thing, _Zachary_. Hey, hey!" John picks up his now-empty glass and waves it toward Anton. "Can we get another bottle? Bring it on over, _garçon_."

"Absolutely, Mr. Cho," Anton says, rushing over. He pauses before he turns away. "By the way, did you, um…get the package I sent up to your suite earlier? With the draft of my manuscript?"

Chris cringes. "You gave him your manuscript?" The kid might as well have lit it on fire and blasted it into outer space. Surely, this won't end well.

"Oh, yeah, I saw that," John says, tapping his fingernails against his glass. "I was going to read that, but then I decided to jack off while watching _Neighbours_ instead. It seemed like a more fruitful use of my time."

"You…what?" Anton says, gaping in disbelief. John just rolls his eyes.

"Do I look like I'm running a fucking workshop? 'Cause if I am, they should adjust the exorbitant fucking charges for my suite."

Anton's huge Bambi eyes flood with glassy tears before he runs off toward the kitchen. Karl hesitates only for a second before getting up to follow his fellow staff member, throwing John a filthy look before he goes.

"What?" John says, looking around. "It's not like he's gonna spit in a bottle of wine. We just won't order dessert, that's all."

"Excuse me," Zach blurts out, pushing away from the table. He looks humiliated, which Chris supposes is a natural reaction to one's boyfriend being a total buffoon. Not that Chris didn't already know that about John. He squelches the urge to go after him, especially when John throws his napkin down and gets up first.

"Pardon me, gotta go soothe the princess."

Chris runs a hand over his face when John is gone. "Sweet baby Jesus," he mutters.

Karl comes back a few minutes later, presumably having given Anton his sleeve to snot all over in despair. "They're gone, thank fuck," he says, as he sits down.

"Holy shit. I am _so sorry_ , Karl. I mean, I knew it would be awkward, but I never thought it would be that—"

"It's fine. Really." He reaches over and runs his palm over Chris' nape, making Chris shiver. There's a dirty little smile on his face that speaks to endless promises. "They're gone now and we can get back to what we were doing before they interrupted us with their pointless prattle."

Chris swallows. "Let's. Please. Yes. Agreed. Abso—"

"Those are far too many words, Pine," Karl says, tugging Chris up by his forearm. "Come on."

He nods and nearly trips in his haste to follow. Who needs words, anyway?

*

Two steps into his room, and Chris' shirt is already unbuttoned and being wrangled off his body by Karl's unbelievably strong and insistent hands.

"Finally, you're not the only one showing skin," Chris says, laughing breathlessly as they trip toward the bedroom. His mouth is swollen from Karl's gorgeous kisses, sucking pulls at his lower lip and hot flickers of his tongue. His entire face has never felt better. Chris reaches out for Karl, to undo what's left of his buttons as well, but Karl just smirks and pushes him onto the bed. The sight of him crawling up over his body sets off all sorts of alarms in Chris' pants—and speaking of his pants, Karl is doing his best to get those off swiftly, too. "Wait," Chris murmurs, wriggling beneath him to help shimmy out of the fabric. "You—you sure you're not too drunk?"

"Chris," Karl deadpans, looking up at him. "I'm about to put my mouth on your…extremely generous member." He quirks a brow, peering down at Chris' exposed cock, which is flushed and straining toward said mouth. "Stop being the nicest man on Earth for a moment and let me do so, yeah?"

"Well, I mean, sure, yeah, it's just— _hrrrrnghh_ , oh, my god."

Karl's mouth is as glorious as advertised. Chris isn't sure what's better: the heat of it wrapped around his cock or the sight of it stretched wide, paired with the dark gleam in Karl's eyes. He runs his hands through Karl's hair, down to the sharp, coarse jut of his jaw, and drops his head back against the mattress, trying to remember to breathe. Karl rubs along his naked thighs, tracing Chris' hipbones with his thumbs as he sucks just beneath the ridge of the head. He seems to already know every trick in the book to make Chris fall apart.

"You," Chris gets out on a stuttering moan. "You're still in your clothes." It's kind of hot, actually, but Chris would really like to see the Naked Karl Show while it's in town. Karl responds by bobbing his head and moaning around Chris' dick, sending shockwaves through him. "This is gonna be over real soon if you…" He lifts his head just enough to catch sight of Karl moving his hips against the edge of the bed, and that just turns his brain into scrambled eggs all over again. "Shit, that is hot. How can you do that? S'not right. Fuck."

"For god's sake, Pine," Karl says, laughing when he moves off Chris' dick. He gets rid of his shirt quickly and Chris can't help but reach up and run his hands over all that beautiful, tanned skin, now that he can see so much more of it. He starts undoing the fly on his trousers, just as Karl leans in and kisses him senseless, brushing his thumb over the sensitive mole by Chris' hairline. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?"

"No, you," Chris counters. "You don't even—"

"What do you want?" Karl presses a kiss to Chris' throat, latching on and making him groan. "You want me to fuck you?"

Chris shudders at the very thought. It was usually the other way around with—well, whatever his name is, but his cock is already jerking in anticipation. "I—fuck, _yes_. That sounds awesome. Been a while, but…"

"No worries; I can take care of you," Karl murmurs. "Customer service professional and all that."

"I have the _utmost_ faith in your hospitality."

Chris learns quickly that his faith hasn't been misplaced. After a trip to the bathroom to find some complimentary lotion, Karl returns and soon has Chris' legs hooked over his broad shoulders, a slick finger buried deep in Chris' body, exploring him carefully. As soon as the second finger goes in, Chris clutches the pillow behind him and starts making utterly embarrassing noises, his hips jerking with every stretch and well-placed thrust.

"Knew I could have you gagging for it," Karl says, stroking his own impressive cock with his free hand. "Look at you. Jesus."

"Muh," Chris utters. When Karl's fingers splay, he lets out a loud moan, without even meaning to. He hasn't been stretched like this in a long time and Karl's elegant fingers feel amazing, feel _perfect_ inside him.

They're both stunned into a momentary pause when they hear an answering moan from the other side of the bedroom wall. A moan that sounds very deliberate.

"Are they…?" Chris asks, blinking. The noises get louder, more high-pitched, and _holy shit_ , Zach is totally over there with John, in the suite directly next door, faking an orgasm to compete with them. He starts to laugh when Karl suddenly shushes him.

"Go with it," Karl whispers, grinning as he removes his fingers and opens a condom. Chris only has a few seconds to feel bereft before Karl's cock is pressing against his entrance. "We—shit. We can't let them win."

"Fuck, you're the best," Chris says, incredulous and open-mouthed as Karl eases into him, thick and hot and everything he's been missing. "You're the _best_!" he says again—well, yells this time, on the first amazing thrust. Karl laughs lowly and bend to kiss him.

"John, fuck, _yes_!" they hear, slightly muffled through the wall. "Your big dick feels so fucking good!"

"Chris!" Karl bellows as he rolls his hips. "So tight and perfect, I could fuck you all day!"

"Yeah, god, right there, John, _right there_ , come on!"

"Karl, _Karl_ , fuck," Chris groans, joining in. Though he's playing along to an extent, the moaning and bucking and gasping aren't fake at all. He really means it. After a while, Chris doesn't even hear Zach anymore, completely lost in the way his noises mingle with Karl's and the unrelenting throb of his cock, which seems to reverberate throughout his entire body. Chris grabs at Karl to pull him closer, his body bending as the thrusts get deeper, and before long, he doesn't even have control over what he's saying. "Touch me, touch me, _please_ , god, need it—"

"Fuck, you just…fuck, Chris."

Karl does as Chris asks, wrapping his strong hand around Chris' needy dick and stroking him in time with their movements. It isn't long before the heat starts gathering in Chris' gut and he begins to shake with the force of his impending orgasm. He looks up at Karl through half-lidded eyes, clutching his wrist.

"Gonna come," he says, a whisper this time. Karl looks back at him, face flushed, and strokes slowly along Chris' slit in stark counterpoint to his quick thrusts.

"Yeah, just for me, Chris? Gonna come on my cock?"

Chris just nods, the best he can do before Karl gives him a final squeeze and it's all over. He gasps and shudders through his release, coming all over his stomach and Karl's fingers. His hips buck weakly until Karl pins them to the mattress and keeps fucking into him, making Chris take it, everything he's got. It doesn't take long before Karl's movements grow staggered and he groans deeply, falling over the edge as well, his hand wrapped tightly around Chris' thigh.

After that, it's quiet, save for the sound of their breathing. Chris blinks slowly and nods off without realizing it, drowsy and trembling in the afterglow. When he opens his eyes a few hours later, his stomach is clean and Karl is draped along his side, holding onto him protectively.

He doesn't know what this is, exactly. But he likes it. It's good.

"Karl," he whispers. "You awake?"

"No," Karl murmurs into his chest. "Get bent."

Chris smiles and hesitates before he speaks again.

"I know this probably sounds crazy, but…I don't think I want to leave," he confesses.

Karl doesn't respond—and Chris doesn't blame him, because what is there to say? Instead, he simply rubs his cheek against Chris' collarbone and tightens his hold. In a way, it's more than enough.

*

When Chris wakes up again, it's morning and the sun is giving him a gorgeous view of Karl as he stands in front of the mirror and buttons his shirt—only halfway, of course.

"Mmm, who said you could put your clothes back on?"

Karl grins. "Good morning to you, too. As much as I would love to stay and spoon-feed you breakfast, duty calls."

"Who said anything about breakfast?" Chris says, feeling bold as he reaches down to palm himself over the thin bed sheets. He's immensely satisfied by the way Karl's eyes dart toward to his groin, as well as the low, rumbling sound he makes. "I was thinking more like round two."

"Tempting. Seriously tempting." Karl leans over the side of the bed and kisses Chris' stomach right above the spot where the sheet lies on his skin. "Tonight? We can avoid those twats at the restaurant and shag all night. Small break for room service, maybe. If we have time."

Chris smiles and pulls him up for a proper kiss. "Yes, please, and thank you."

"So polite, you Americans," Karl says. He kisses Chris one more time before walking out with a wave.

It's the first morning since he's arrived at Bondi Royale that Chris doesn't order an alcoholic beverage with his breakfast. He sits in the outdoor area, looks out at the water, and sighs happily. His booze-free pineapple juice tastes crisp on his tongue, the sun feels good on his skin, and things are suddenly looking up. Chris doesn't even mind when he spies John sitting in the lobby after breakfast, writing in that godforsaken Moleskine and otherwise looking bored—not hung over, though.

"Let me guess," Chris says. "You don't get hangovers because you're just that cool."

John looks up and smiles at Chris, which is a little surprising, after last night. "Oh, hey. I drank my weight in coffee already, so." He tilts his head and looks Chris over. " _You_ look like a man who's just gotten laid. And well, at that."

"It's, uh, entirely possible," Chris says, sitting down beside him. He tries not to smile too widely, though it's difficult to suppress his warm and tingly feelings right now. He notices the suitcase next to John's chair and points to it. "Oh, are you and Zach heading back to the States today?"

"Well, I mean…I am." He shrugs one shoulder. "I dunno what Zach's doing, but it's not really my concern anymore."

Chris blinks, probably more surprised than he should be. "Did…something happen?"

"Well, I mean, I'm sure you heard that little performance he gave last night." John rolls his eyes. "He should pull _that_ on his show, and they'd give him an Emmy for sure. Most acting he's done in years, I bet. As if that shit show of a dinner wasn't bad enough."

"But you guys seemed so—I mean, you were only here for a few days."

"Whatever, he's _impossible_. He's a drama queen and a bossy little bitch and I can't take it anymore. And I don't have to take it; I'm _John Cho_. Just because he has a nice ass doesn't mean there aren't a ton of other hot asses out there, lining up and waiting for me to take a turn." He pauses as a particularly attractive bellhop goes by. "Look, there goes one right now."

Chris stares at John, still trying to process the fact that Zach is probably sitting up in his suite right now, totally broken-hearted—either that, or he's breaking lamps and ashtrays and other things that don't belong to him, and running up his bill like crazy.

What's even more difficult to comprehend, however, is the fact that Chris actually feels kind of _sorry_ for him. Damn his polite American hide. But even after everything that Zach's put him through, Chris still cares about him. Basically. Kinda.

"Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you guys were…I mean, I dunno what I thought."

John scratches behind his ear. "I figured you'd be happy, man. Three years is a long time. Now you can rekindle the romance or whatever."

"No, I don’t—no. I don't think so. Yeah, admittedly, there are still some feelings, but I'm also seeing Karl now, and he's really—"

"Yeah, okay," John interrupts, standing up. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to pretend to care anymore, so. Ciao." He salutes Chris and grabs his bag, heading toward the lobby exit. "Good luck with your book and whatnot."

Chris gapes as he watches John go, walking directly to the taxi stand and already flirting shamelessly with the attendant. Then he's gone, leaving Chris with a lot of unanswered questions and a weird desire to go upstairs and check on his sad and lonely ex-boyfriend who, up until five minutes ago, was his evil asshole ex-boyfriend. That is, if he even should. It's probably not a good idea. He licks his lips and wonders.

This is definitely not how he expected his day to go.


	5. Chapter 5

Zach opens the door to his hotel room about ten seconds after Chris knocks. Even from the doorway, Chris can see there's at least one vase lying broken on the hardwood floor, and a very unlucky table lamp that probably never saw it coming.

"I know," Zach says, holding up a hand. "Trust me, I wouldn't have broken them if I couldn't afford to pay for them."

"I mean, I know you can afford it," Chris says. He looks on blankly as Zach turns and walks back into the room, which he supposes is a silent invitation to follow. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him. "You need help cleaning up?"

"I need a fucking _drink_ , is what I need. And a baseball bat so I can smash John's stupid face in. That fucking prick."

Zach drops heavily onto the sofa and Chris takes his cue to sit beside him. He keeps his distance—just a few inches or so, but they're very important inches. He needs those inches. Chris knows he shouldn't even be here to begin with—that it flies in the face of all logic—so he's taking this one preventative measure, even if it doesn't matter much now that he's sitting in his ex-boyfriend's hotel room, right next to said ex-boyfriend. Alone. He clasps his hands between his knees, takes a deep breath, and tries his best not to look at Zach.

"So, what happened?" he asks. Zach lets out a humorless chuckle.

"Last night happened. That whole dreadful fucking dinner and then…" He shakes his head and scratches at the stubble that's already appeared on his cheeks and jaw—a clear sign that he didn't bother to shave this morning. Zach becomes a goddamn chia pet when he ignores a razor for more than twelve hours at a time. "He thinks I haven't gotten over you."

"Um, I think you probably have. What with you dumping me and all. That seemed pretty, you know…final."

"I mean, I thought it was," Zach says, quieter now. Chris can feel those big, brown eyes on him and the smart, somewhat less ridiculous part of his brain tells him it's a very bad idea to lift his head and acknowledge that stare. But then he looks back anyway, because that little brain sliver is no match for the rest of his dumb, good-for-nothing, impulsive body. Chris swallows when he looks at Zach, his heart already racing at how unfairly beautiful he is. His eyes are cloudy with tears and his dark hair is falling into his eyes and god, even after everything Zach has done, Chris just wants to make it _better_. He hates himself for it, too. "Chris, what if this all wasn't supposed to happen? What if I made a huge mistake?"

"Zach," he sighs. God, he wishes he'd never run into John in the lobby. "Let's not do this, okay?"

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just telling you how I feel. Can't I tell you how I feel?"

"What about how _I_ feel, Zach?"

"I _know_ how you feel," Zach says. He reaches down and wraps his hand around Chris' wrist and fuck, even after all this time, that one touch is electric. Chris has to force back a shudder when Zach runs his thumb along a sensitive vein. 

"You've missed me. That's why you came all this way—to get over me, right? Well, what if you don't have to? What if we just…go back to the way things were before? Just act like it all never happened?"

Chris can feel sweat start to prickle along his hairline. Did someone crank up the thermostat or what? "We can't do that," he says, trying to sound firm. "Not after what you—"

"Shh, it's okay," Zach whispers. His breath ghosts over Chris' skin as he begins to press small kisses along Chris' jaw and neck, his palm rubbing down Chris' chest over his T-shirt. It feels good. Too good, even. Familiar. Chris shivers at the scrape of Zach's stubble but otherwise he remains perfectly still, frozen in the face of uncertainty. "Listen. We'll stay one more night—together, this time, just the two of us—and reconnect. And then we'll go back home and everything will be perfect again. Okay, baby? Does that sound good?"

"Zach, I can't—this isn't _fair_ ," Chris protests. But Zach is already sliding his hands up to his face, pulling him closer to slide their mouths together. "Can't," he murmurs again, trying to resist. "You haven't even apologized, and—"

"I'm sorry, baby," Zach whispers, his forehead pressed to Chris', and his perfect lips mere millimeters from Chris' mouth. "Really. I'm so, so sorry."

And that's all she wrote; Chris is a goner.

"Oh, god," he whimpers, his back hitting the couch cushions. Zach slithers over him and plunges his tongue into Chris' open mouth, breaking the kiss only to make quick work of Chris' T-shirt. He gets Chris' pants unzipped in record time, too. He pulls Chris' underwear down with just a wee bit too much gusto and Chris has to squelch a whimper when the elastic band scrapes over his dick. Zach doesn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in the sight before him.

"Holy fuck, I missed your cock," Zach sighs. Chris can't help the smug feeling that washes over him.

"I'm still the biggest you've had, right? Bigger than John?"

"Much bigger, baby. That was a baby's dick, compared to yours. A baby's pinky toe."

Heavens above be praised. Chris thinks he could orgasm just from hearing those words alone. Zach grins and rubs his gorgeous, prickly face all over Chris' inner thighs, licking a tantalizing stripe up the underside of his cock. He knows all the tricks to set Chris off like a bomb, to make him explode. But this time, at least for the moment, nothing much stirs down there at all. Chris exhales harshly and glances down, surprised to see that he's still basically soft. Zach tsks under his breath but carries on undeterred, noisily slurping the head of Chris' cock into his hot, hot mouth. Chris drops his head back to look at the ceiling, trying to surrender to the moment, but his brainwaves are all garbled and it still doesn't seem to work. He doesn't get hard.

After a few moments, Zach lifts his head and squints. "The fuck? Usually you're leaking all over the place by now."

"I don't _leak_ ; I'm not a faucet." Chris huffs and shifts his hips. "I dunno. It's weird."

Zach licks his lips. "You want me to suck on your balls?"

"Um…"

"You want a finger in your ass? I can put a finger in your ass. I'll go get the lube."

Chris cringes. "Oh, god. What, the lube you used with John last night? No, thank you."

"It's fucking _lube_ , Christopher. It's a means to an end." And there's that voice, the one that sets Chris' teeth on edge. The one he's learned to loathe. "Okay, fine. I'll just keep sucking your dick. Get hard already because I want it inside me."

And he does keep sucking, but after another few seconds, it becomes clear to Chris that nothing is going to happen down there. The dick has put its little dick foot down and it wants no part of this charade whatsoever. Funny how when it counts most, his dick appears to be smarter than his brain.

"You know what?" Chris says, gently nudging Zach away. "This isn't working." Zach wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and scowls.

"Fucking tell me about it. What, I broke up with you and now you're impotent?"

"Judging by the sex I had with Karl last night and your melodramatic response, I think we both know that's not true." Chris nearly flinches at his own retort. God, _Karl_. Zach sank his fangs into Chris' skin, unleashed his toxic venom, and Chris forgot about last night far too quickly. He feels himself flush, the warmth creeping up along his chest.

"Well, then what the hell is wrong with you?" Zach asks. "I want to have sex and you can't even get it up!"

"Maybe I can't get it up for _you_ anymore because you're a fucking hairy-assed _nightmare_! Ever think about that, dipshit?" Chris scrambles out from beneath Zach and collects his clothes, throwing them back on. "You know what? _This_ was the mistake. Fuck you forever and eat a baby pinky toe dick. I'm out."

Zach gapes at Chris, horrified and indignant. "Oh, we are _so_ fucking over," he seethes, baring his teeth. "Seriously, if you think I would ever even _entertain_ the thought of taking you back after this, Christopher…"

Chris just rolls his eyes and hustles to the door. "Yeah, well, if I ever ask, _Zachary_ , you'd better call 9-1-1 'cause it means Sylar came to life and gave me a lobotomy. Peace."

Drop the mic, walk away. And shut the door just in time before a flying ashtray connects with the skull. That's how Chris rolls, apparently.

It's only when he gets back to his own room that he realizes exactly what he's done—and what it means he might have to do next.

*

Chris spends a few minutes standing behind his trusty marble column like a creeper, watching Karl interact with hotel guests at the front desk. Karl is so handsome and perfect that it almost hurts to look at him. Chris really doesn't want to do what he's about to do but he owes it to Karl and to this amazing, fantastic, blessedly romantic thing that's somehow emerged like an immaculate flower from the ugly sidewalk crack of this disaster of a vacation.

When he finally gets the nerve to go over there, Karl gives him a blinding smile. It has Chris already trying to talk himself out of this entire shitty conversation.

"Well, look at you," Karl says. "A vision in plaid." Chris looks down at himself and laughs. He tries not to imagine Zach's hands pawing at the fabric, undoing the shirt buttons at a frenzied pace.

"Yeah, went back to my old lumberjack ways." Chris smiles and shakes his head. "You look amazing. As always."

"Come on, Chris," Karl says, smiling almost…bashfully? Ugh, damn him. Even the way he pronounces Chris' name is like a punch to the gut. "No need for flattery. You already got me into bed. Not that I was opposed."

Chris can feel his own smile falter. God, he really, really doesn't want to do this.

"Listen, Karl. I need to tell you something. About Zach and John."

Karl snorts. "Pray tell. They've gone and continued their world tour of destruction somewhere else? Should I alert the authorities?"

"Not exactly. They broke up."

"Tragedy. Like losing Princess Di all over again."

"I know, exactly," Chris says, laughing despite himself. "Yeah, I found out from John as he was leaving the resort. And I know I shouldn't have, but I felt really bad about it, so I decided to go check on Zach to see how he was doing."

That seems to get Karl's attention. His smile melts away and he quirks one of his expressive eyebrows. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because." Chris licks his lips nervously. "I want to be honest with you."

"Okay. Be honest with me, then."

"Okay, well, I went up there and Zach was a total mess, and we started talking and one thing led to another and some…things happened."

"Some things," Karl repeats. He's broken eye contact now, shuffling around papers on his desk, and god, Chris hasn't even said much of anything yet and he's already fucking this up. He can see it splintering apart in his dumb, useless hands.

"Nothing big," Chris blurts. "We didn't have sex. Well, not penetrative sex. Um."

"I _really_ don't need to hear the details."

"I mean, fuck, it was awful, Karl. I didn't feel _anything_. We started out just talking but then he wanted to do things and I made him stop and—"

Karl interrupts, his voice low. "He took advantage of you?"

"Well…of my emotional state," Chris says, squinting.

"So, you were a willing participant."

Chris tries not to flinch. "For most of it. Yeah."

"Okay. Right." Karl gathers some papers together and staples them at the corner, perhaps with a little more force than necessary. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Karl," Chris implores, leaning over the edge of the desk. "I wanted to tell you because it didn't mean anything. I can totally see now that Zach and I aren't right for each other and we are _so_ , so done that it's not even funny."

"I wasn't laughing, was I?" Karl says, his voice clipped and curt now. His eyes are colder than Chris has ever seen, shutting him out to what's going on inside. "Well, now that you've gotten that all out: Will that be all today, Mr. Pine?"

Chris' heart drops into his gut, the formality ringing in his ears. "Karl. Come on. Please don't do this."

"No," Karl says, glancing away again. "This was a mistake. People do selfish, stupid things when they're in a bad place. Believe me, I know. It was too soon, too fast, and I should have known better than to get involved. Plus, you're a guest here and…well, it wouldn't have worked out anyway."

"Okay, yes, I was selfish, but it's not too soon, Karl, I _swear_. I know it's only been a few days but I really—"

"Leave it," Karl says, his voice a little shaky even as his lips press together firmly. "Just leave it, Chris. It's over and done with. Go back to the States, get yourself together, and…have a nice life."

Chris blinks when he feels the burning sensation of tears, and wow, he wasn't expecting that. Nor was he expecting such a harsh shutdown from Karl, not that he doesn't deserve it. He lets go of the desk like it's on fire and backs away. "Yeah. Thanks. You too."

He tells himself not to look back as he books it out of there.

Back in his room, Chris spends the rest of the afternoon on his laptop, working to change his flight to an earlier departure. There's no point in sticking around this continent when the one person he wants to spend time with now wants nothing to do with him. It costs him an exorbitant fee but he pays it, grateful for the extra bit of money still left in his checking account. Then he starts packing his things.

Chris realizes halfway down the elevator ride to the lobby that he's probably bound to run into Karl again when he checks out. To his surprise, Karl is nowhere to be found and another person has taken his place. To his greater surprise, that person is Karl's ex, Nat.

"Oh, it's you," she says, when she spies Chris. "Karl's…friend."

"Yeah, um, kinda." Chris gives her his credit card and room key. "I thought you worked at the place next door."

"Same owner. I do him favors sometimes under certain circumstances. And someone here went home early today unexpectedly, so."

"Oh." Chris swallows and stands there awkwardly as Nat goes through the motions, then hands him his card and receipt. "Thanks."

"I hope you enjoyed your stay, Mr. Pine." She glances up at him and takes a deep breath. "And…I apologize, for the other night. I was out of line. And my friend Zoe can be very defensive of me."

"Yeah, I noticed," Chris says. They exchange small, wary smiles. "Thanks. It's okay. I know what it's like to have your heart broken."

"It was a long time ago. I reckon I should get over it by now." Nat shrugs, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you're not interested in hearing about it."

"Don't be sorry." Chris puts his credit card away and sighs. "Listen. I know it's absolutely none of my business but…Karl's a great guy. Like, salt of the earth. And you shouldn't feel compelled to bury the hatchet or anything just because some guy you barely know says so, but I couldn't leave without at least putting in a good word for him. 'Cause he didn't mean to hurt you. He would never willingly hurt anybody. He was just trying to be honest."

Nat swallows, looking at Chris through limpid blue eyes, and he can see why she once held Karl's heart. "Maybe he didn't mean to hurt me, but he did. Quite a lot."

"I know. And you didn't deserve that."

They exchange one last look before Nat motions to the lobby's revolving door. "There's a queue for taxis outside, if you need a ride to the airport."

"Thanks," Chris says. "Take care."

Nat just nods. "Thank you for staying at Bondi Royale."

Outside, Chris joins the queue, right behind Lea and Jonathan, who he'd almost forgotten existed. Now that he's watching them attempt to suck each other's faces off, he's not sure it'll be possible to ever forget them again.

"Oh, hey, Chris," Jonathan drawls when they part, Lea's lip-gloss smeared all over his mouth as he looks Chris up and down. "Wanna split a cab?"

Chris grips his suitcase handle tightly. Karma works mighty swiftly, it seems.

*

Chris wakes to the sensation of a pillow being thwacked hard against his butt. Immediately, he knows exactly who is responsible and that it's his own fault for being so free with his spare keys. Still, he can't help but let out a yelp of surprise.

"That's very unpleasant, you know."

Anne shrugs, tossing the throw pillow aside. "But effective. Also, it's your own fault for sleeping with your ass in the air like that. It's like a homing beacon for penises and pillows."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Chris grunts and shifts into a sitting position on the couch, looking around blearily. "What're you doing here?"

"Weeeell, I hadn't heard from you since you emailed me to say you were coming home early. And since I figured you could be dead or lying in a pool of your own vomit, I thought I should come and check up on you." She gestures to the two large cups on the coffee table. "Also, I brought smoothies."

"Mmm, smoothie," Chris says. He reaches for his cup and slurps noisily from the straw. "Imagine if you had found me dead."

Anne nods and lifts her own drink. "It would be the smoothie I'd never forget."

Chris quirks a small smile as he sips again. A week ago, after getting home from Australia, he had _felt_ like dropping dead somewhere in his apartment and letting the neighbors find him. That was mostly due to the interminable flight back, during which Chris mentally berated himself for fucking things up so badly with Karl. The twenty-something hour mess was punctuated nicely by promotional messages between in-flight movies featuring none other than Sylar himself, Mr. Zachary Quinto, laying down some cheesy script about how Qantas Airways is the only way a sexy serial killer likes to fly. Keep it classy, Qantas.

But after a few days, things got…better. And productive, oddly enough.

"So what have you been doing with yourself? Besides sitting around and waiting for scurvy to set in?" Anne asks. She looks around and motions to Chris' notebook and a haphazard stack of papers on the table. "This looks promising."

"Yeah, I've actually been working on the novel, believe it or not."

"Chris, that's great!" Anne exclaims, smacking his shoulder. "What happened, lightning finally struck?"

"Well, you know, heartbreak is pretty good inspiration," he says, smiling. "Plus, Karl encouraged me to keep going with it."

"Oh, I see. So when I tell you to work on the novel, you're all, 'nooooo, I don't wanna,' and when some hunky Kiwi guy who doesn't know how to button his own shirt says it, you vomit out five thousand words like it's no big whoop."

Chris squints. "Um, more like twenty-five thousand."

"You wrote twenty-five thousand words in a week?" Anne asks, blinking rapidly. "By _hand_? How have your fingers not fallen off?"

"Four days," he corrects her again. "I slept for most of the first few days. Jet lag and all. But on the bright side, I'm almost done with the first draft. It'll take a while to spruce things up but I figure if I can get one or two chapters exactly the way I want them, I can send them to my agent and maybe—"

"You have an agent?"

"Well, I did once. I haven't talked to her in a few years. She might not actually remember me."

"Just show her your butt and I'm sure she'll remember you right away."

"It is an ass to remember."

Chris sprawls back on the sofa and holds out his arm for Anne to join him. She reclines on her side, fitting snugly between his body and the couch cushions. Chris has to admit that it's comfortable. He'd almost forgotten what human contact felt like after holing himself up in his apartment for days, scribbling away.

"Wow, you smell really terrible," Anne says, though she makes no effort to move away. "You smell like ranch dressing that's been left out in the sun for too long."

"That…is highly and painfully descriptive."

"Feel free to steal it for your book." She rests her chin on Chris' shoulder and peers up at him. "So. I know I'm not supposed to mention it, but have you heard from him?"

Chris exhales and shuts his eyes. "Nope."

"Well, have you tried getting in touch with him?"

"He made it pretty clear that he didn't want me to."

"Did he actually say, 'Don't get in touch with me'?"

"Anne," Chris sighs. He puts his drink down on the table to free his hand and rub his face. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? I screwed up and…it's over."

She sighs right back and traces the letters that spell "BERKELEY" on his T-shirt. "I just feel like it can't really be over. Not completely. I mean, he liked you _so_ much."

Chris scoffs. "How would you know that?"

"Because he'd be crazy not to," she says, looking at him with all of the sincerity in the world. "And I just have a feeling that he did. That he _does_. He wouldn't have brushed you off like that if he didn't. You got to him, Chris."

 _He got to me, too_ , is what Chris doesn't say in return. Anne knows him well enough to figure it out.

"Doesn't matter," he says. "I'm here and he's all the way over there, and…he was right. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway."

Anne sips quietly at her drink, considering this. Then she releases the straw with a pop and pouts.

"Boooo. I don't like this ending."

Chris smirks. "Because it doesn't meet your standards for a happy and fulfilling romance?"

"Because it _sucks_ , dill hole." Anne gestures to the notebook and papers, flicking her drink in the air. "I mean, the guy got you to write again. He got you to _care_. And that's something that Zach was never able to do."

Chris feels a swooping sensation in his gut—one that tells him Anne is right; that a few measly days with Karl did him a world of good. That he wants that feeling back more than anything. He tries to ignore it. Instead, he looks down when he feels a cold sensation creeping through the fabric of his T-shirt.

"You spilled smoothie on me in the midst of your hysterics, you know."

"Hey, Jackass Kerouac, eat a giant dick." Anne looks down at the puddle of juice on his stomach. "You know, it's actually counteracting the smell."

"Huh. Nice."

"You should thank me."

"I will. I'm very grateful."

A few weeks later, Chris gets another wake-up call, this time over the phone. And at two in the morning.

"Whossat?" he slurs, fumbling with the phone.

"Chris! It's Elizabeth," a perky voice says.

"…As in the Queen Mother?"

He can _hear_ the responding eye roll. "As in your agent. Elizabeth Banks?"

"I have an agent?"

"You do, in fact. You have an agent to whom you recently sent a completed—lord have mercy—chapter from your novel, and who can't fucking _believe_ you've been sitting on a pile of gold like this for god only knows how long. You stupid, gorgeous, overeducated idiot."

"Now I remember," Chris mutters. "The constant string of compliments wrapped in insults rings a bell."

"Are you listening to me? This chapter is _good_ , Chris. Really good."

"Why are you even awake at—wait, it is? You really think so?"

Chris can hear Elizabeth slurping on something at the other end of the call. "I'm always awake. I've steadily replaced my blood with Diet Coke over the years. And yes, I really think so. I'm going to get right on this, Chris. You've kept it locked away long enough. I'm thinking _The New Yorker_ or the _Paris Review_. At the very least, _Tin House_ or _Harper's_. Those bitches would _swoon_."

"The… _The New Yorker_?" He blinks rapidly, sitting all the way up now. "That would be…good."

"Boy, you're a real vocab expert when you're tired, Chris."

"It’s _two in the morning_."

"Ten past two, to be precise. The exact time when your illustrious agent first informed you that she was going to get you to the top of the bestseller list, even if she had to set fire to a pile of kittens to do it. Which she won't, because your shit is to die and it'll be cake. Easy money, sweet cheeks. Well, for me. Maybe not for you. What with your whole tortured writer trying to get by in Hollywood schtick. Snore. Save it for the _GQ_ profile, Mr. Personality."

Chris flops back onto his pillow. "You lost me around 'set fire to kittens.' Which I would rather you not do, to be perfectly clear."

"I mean, I'll _try_." She makes a kiss noise into the receiver. "I'm going to go work my magic. You go back to sleep and stay tuned. Ciao."

And Chris tries to fall asleep again, he really does.

But he's too busy smiling.

*

The next few weeks are a blur. A blur of good news, which is something Chris isn't used to. Elizabeth makes good on her promise and gets his story into the _Paris Review_ , then apologizes for the fact that it's not _The New Yorker_ , even though Chris is ready to worship at her feet because _holy fucking shit_. After that, with what seems like lightning-fast speed, publishing houses start sending over offers. With Elizabeth on his side, hardly any time seems to pass at all before Chris has a two-book contract for an amount of money that he didn't even think was still possible, what with the death of print and all that fun stuff.

"E-books, baby," Elizabeth says. "People are gonna snap it up like crazy. Read it on the subway, beach, the toilet, whatever." She reaches over and scoops up the last of the guacamole with her chip. "Now stop second-guessing everything and sign the damn thing while we're young."

Chris lifts himself up from his slouch on the sofa to reach for a pen. And then, after one last deep breath, he signs and dates on the dotted line. He stares at his signature while Anne squeals beside him and squeezes his shoulders.

"Oh, my god. You did it, Chris! You have a _book_!"

"I did it," Chris says, still feeling a little discombobulated. "Oh, god. Now I have to write a _second_ book."

Elizabeth smirks and takes the contract, sliding it into a folder and tucking it away in her briefcase. "One thing at a time, dearest. What I actually think we should do next is throw a little party—a congratulatory cocktail soiree to start building buzz. You'll read, we'll get some literary blogs to cover it, promise them free food and the first chance to meet the new It Boy. It'll be great. I'll snag a venue and sponsors.  
Meanwhile, you come up with an invite list, friends and family and all that, and then I'll add some important people."

Anne's lip curls. "Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it." She leans over and plants a quick kiss on Chris' cheek. "Congratulations, Mr. Bestseller."

"Don't jinx me," Chris says, but he can't help but be quietly thrilled.

Later that night, after a few tacos and many more celebratory margaritas, he and Anne come back to his place and start hashing out an invitation list over a bottle of Chardonnay. It's maybe not the best time to do such a thing, but Chris is still vibrating with excitement and he can't wait. He curls up on the couch with his laptop and types with one hand—his wine held aloft in the other—as Anne paces the room with her own too-full glass, rattling off names.

"You should invite the Obamas," she says. "You know Michelle would be into it."

"I think they might be busy." He takes a large swallow of wine and squints at his laptop screen. "Okay, tell me if this is a bad idea, but…should I invite Karl?"

"Oh, my _god_." Anne turns quickly, her hair whipping in the air and her eyes huge and unfocused. "You totally _should_!"

Chris knows he's on the wrong side of drunk but he doesn't care. This is a great idea. This is the _best_ idea. "I should, right? He would totally come!"

"He will _totally_ come. And if he doesn't, he's an asshole."

"Just 'cause he lives in Australia, I mean…"

"It's a quick flight!" Anne exclaims, waving a hand in the air. "Totally doable! You should invite him and he is going to come. And then there is going to be _so much_ butt sex."

"I really miss butt sex. And him. And butt sex with him." Chris pulls up the Bondi Royale website and while he can't find a proper staff list, he gets the general contact email and pastes it into the list along with Karl's name. "Okay, I'm gonna do it. I will. I'm inviting him. I'm doing it."

"Do it!" Anne cheers. "Send it!"

"I'm sending it!"

"Make it happen! Ride the pony!"

He clicks the send button with all the gusto he can manage. Then he pauses, looks up, and swallows.

"Okay, I'm gonna need more wine," he says.

Anne scoffs at him, turning away and cradling the bottle to her chest.

"Nooooo, get your own."

The next morning—or rather, early afternoon—Chris wakes up in his bed next to Anne, who's still asleep. It feels as though his tongue has sprouted mold in the night. Chris checks his email and his stomach drops when he sees Karl's name at the bottom of the modestly sized list, and he realizes his big, huge, terrible mistake. He shoots off a quick email to Elizabeth.

_You didn't send out that invite already, did you? I mean, you haven't had time to get a venue and sponsors yet, right?_

_Sure did_ , she writes back immediately. _Remember how I don't sleep?_

Chris shuts his eyes, closes his laptop, and flops back onto the bed. Anne stirs beside him, lifting her head blearily. "Ugh, what did we _do_ last night?"

"I couldn’t even begin to tell you," he mutters.

But as it turns out, nothing happens. Chris doesn't hear anything from Karl—and he realizes how silly it was to expect anything different. The email probably went to some overstuffed general inbox or got trapped in a spam filter. Or, just as likely, Karl saw it, had himself a good laugh, and deleted it without a second thought. And it's just as well, Chris tells himself. Karl had said it himself: _It's over and done with_. And he wouldn't have said it if it weren't true.

*

The night of the party comes all too soon. Chris has been trying to tame his nerves for days with little luck. He's afraid that with all of the good news as of late, something terrible is going to happen, like he'll spill something on himself or give an important writer a lame quote. Or that Zach will show up. God, he really hopes Zach doesn't show up.

After a few rounds of schmoozing, Chris relaxes somewhat, thanks to Elizabeth's grounding smiles and touches as she ushers him through the crowd. Anne keeps trying to calm him down with drinks from the open bar but Chris refuses. He doesn't want to be drunk for his reading, considering that all of these important people are here—most to support him but some to see if he screws up. He knows as much; it's not his first rodeo. He's been through the Hollywood ringer—and survived a relationship with Zachary Quinto—so he tends to be prepared for the worst in people.

After a while, folks start to take their seats and the bar service goes quiet while introductory comments and toasts are made. Chris feels a little odd, being at the center of attention and standing in a three-piece suit that he hardly ever wears. When Elizabeth introduces him, he grabs his water and manuscript pages and he makes his way to the podium.

"Hi. Wow. Thank you all so much for coming. I can't begin to tell you how much this means to me. I have some huge thank yous to give out here, so bear with me. I want to thank my publisher for taking a chance on my writing. Also, my amazing agent, Elizabeth Banks, whose insane sleep schedule has resulted in big things for me." He pauses for the laugh and takes a sip of water. "Anne, my best friend in the world, who kicked my ass up and down the block far too many times to get me to finish this thing, and…"

Chris lifts his gaze and scans the audience quickly. He's not really sure what he's looking for or why he's even bothering, but then, all at once, it becomes clear. Sitting toward the back of the crowd, is a very familiar face attached to a very familiar chest exposed by some _very_ familiar undone shirt buttons. Karl. He shoots Chris a small, fond smile and lifts his drink in the air, and Chris feels all of the tension ease out of him in a rush. It leaves him slightly breathless and smiling like an idiot.

"…and, um. One last thank you to someone who showed me I could move on, even when I didn't believe it myself. He knows who he is."

Chris isn't sure what's more satisfying: the blush on Karl's cheeks that he can spy all the way across the room or Anne's immediate, unsubtle twist in her chair when she realizes what Chris is talking about. He grins, turns to his bookmarked page, and starts to read.

At the end of the event, there's even _more_ schmoozing, not to mention a hell of a lot of over-the-top compliments. Chris is sure he's never met most of these people and likely will never meet them again, but he appreciates every kind word all the same. Hell, it'll have to last him when he's throwing fits of despair over the next book, eating Cocoa Puffs straight from the box and getting emotionally invested in _Sex and the City_ reruns.

It seems like an eternity until Karl approaches him, looking ridiculously suave but a little more casual than when he's on the job. Chris exhales and it's almost as though he's been holding his breath all this time—since he returned from Australia, even.

"Hi," he manages, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. I can't believe you actually came."

"You invited me," Karl says, as if it's simple as that. And hell, maybe it is. He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiles. "I was glad you did, too. I'd been thinking about taking a trip to the States for a while now."

Chris nods and smiles tightly, not knowing what to make of that. He decides to set it aside and does his best not to ogle Karl, who looks even more handsome than he remembers, damn him. "Thank you. For coming. Um, to the event." He scratches his jaw and laughs faintly. "You, um, look incredible."

"You do. I wasn't sure you owned anything other than the lumberjack wear, but…you clean up well, don't you?"

Karl's gaze roams over his body and Chris swallows, feeling its heat down to his bones. God, he wishes they were anywhere else right now—somewhere they could talk and maybe go over what went wrong. And Chris could explain what happened at Bondi Royale and why his dick is such a stupid little fucker. As it is, he can tell there's a swarm of people waiting to talk to him about things that are much less interesting than the delectable swath of stubble along Karl's jaw and the delicate whorls of hair making themselves known in the deep vee of his halfway open shirt and…okay, maybe he wants to do more than talk. But not right now. Right now, he can't do anything.

"Um, listen," he says. "How long are you in town?"

"Open-ended. I quit my job."

"You did?"

"Yeah, you know, the acting bug never really went away, so I thought I'd come here and slum it in a cheesy motel for a while, audition for some things. Try to start fresh in a new place."

"That's great, Karl," Chris says, blinking in surprise. He tries the best he can to process all of this information without smiling like a buffoon or bursting into tears. "Really."

"Yeah, customer service was bound to lose its shine after a while." He grins and motions to the crowd waiting patiently behind Chris. "You've got some chatting to do, looks like. I ought to leave you to it."

"Okay, I guess so, yeah. But maybe sometime we could—"

"Oh, my _god_ ," Anne exclaims, sidling up and interrupting. "You must be Karl. I mean, you must be; I heard about the button thing. Good lord. What are they putting in the water down there?"

"And you must be Anne," Karl says. He smirks and takes her hand in his own, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. She blinks and then smiles her radiant, gorgeous smile.

"And you must have gotten lost on the way to Chippendale's. Hi."

Chris rolls his eyes and motions behind him. "Look, I've gotta go do…whatever. But I'll be back later, okay?"

"Do what you need to do, Mr. Popularity," Karl says. "And congratulations. It was just as good as I remember."

"Okay, don't take too long or I'm stealing him for myself, Pine," Anne says.

Chris' stomach does a familiar flip as he takes one last look between them and then turns to face the masses.

Of course, Chris loses track of time. After he wraps up his last conversation, he looks around the bar to see that most of the attendees have gone. There are only a few stragglers left, including Anne, who's busy playing with her phone. Karl is nowhere to be seen and Chris feels like kicking a puppy, just a little bit.

"Don't worry," Anne says when Chris walks up. "I gave him your number and your address, so he knows how to get in touch with you. I figured you wouldn't mind. Actually, I figured you would kill me if I didn't."

Chris sighs and finishes his beer. He's glad to finally have some booze in hand, now that he's done reading. "Shit. I thought maybe he'd stick around."

"I think he wanted to but he figured you were busy. He couldn't keep his eyes off you the whole time." She nudges his side and smiles. "It made flirting with him very difficult."

"You have my sympathy," Chris says, his voice laced with sarcasm. He doesn't mean it, though. He drops a kiss on Anne's cheek to let her know as much and she squeezes his hand as she does the same.

By the time Chris gets home, he's so exhausted that he leaves the front door slightly ajar without realizing it. All he wants to do is take off every piece of his suit and he makes a point of doing so the minute he walks into the apartment, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. He's blissfully naked by the time he gets to his armchair and he drops into it with a sigh, leaning his head back against the cushion. All in all, it was a fantastic evening—Karl came, he actually _came_ —but the fact remains that Karl isn't here with him right now and the regret is palpable.

Fuck, Karl looked good tonight, though. He almost forgot just how sexy the man was, and now that he has a reminder, it's difficult not to obsess over it. Chris' cock stirs at the memory of Karl—his outfit, his scent, everything—and he takes himself in hand without a second thought, thinking back to that one amazing night at the hotel.

He's well past half-mast when the front door creaks open and a voice rings out.

"Chris? You home? You left the door—oh, my god."

"Oh, my GOD," Chris exclaims, cupping a hand over his dick—not that it helps much. He looks at Karl with wide, startled eyes. "This…isn't what it looks like."

Karl bites his lip, holding back laughter. "I think it is. And I'm, ah, sorry to interrupt, but Anne gave me your address and, well, um. Can I come inside?"

"Yes. Of course, but…don't laugh at me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Karl shuts the door and locks it behind him, the way a smart person would do. Then he saunters over to the armchair, looking like a predator with its prey in sight, and leans down to slide his big palms over the tops of Chris' thighs. "I had something else in mind. If you'll indulge me. Yeah?"

Chris' heart starts to pound furiously. _Oh, holy fuck, yes._ "Um, yeah, but—"

"Move this," Karl says, flicking Chris' hand away from his groin. He kneels on the floor in front of the armchair and his hazel eyes seem to flicker as they roam over Chris' body, getting Chris back to hardness in a New York minute. When he speaks again, his voice is a little rougher, a bit grittier. "You know, I missed you, Pine."

"I missed you, too," Chris murmurs. He laughs faintly. "I fucking wrote you a _book_."

"And I love it. I can't wait to read the rest." Karl rests his hands on the arms of the chair and leans up to press a warm kiss to Chris' throat, making him sigh. Then he murmurs directly into Chris' ear. "Maybe I'll make you read it to me as I fuck you slowly."

"Oh, dear god in heaven," Chris whispers, to no one in particular. He reaches up and cups Karl's face in his hands. "I hope it's cool to kiss you because I'll pretty much die otherwise and I was having a really nice day, so that would suck."

"Still so polite," Karl says with a teasing smile.

Chris kisses the _hell_ out of him.

The next few minutes are a delicious blur of teeth and tongues and fingertips roaming everywhere over feverish skin. Chris lets out a whine when Karl breaks their kiss but then he skims his mouth down along Chris' abdomen and, well…Chris can't complain about what happens next. Especially because Karl is _ravenous_ for it, and he sucks Chris' dick down like a vacuum, leaving him squirming in his chair and seeing stars. Karl's tongue is hot and divine as it laps wet trails over his shaft, and just when Chris thinks it can't get any better, Karl _lifts him up_ , large hands gripped tightly around Chris' hips, and he goes to town on his ass, licking a hot trail from his perineum to his opening. Chris really has no comeback for that, other than to throw his head back and shout through one of the most intense orgasms of his _life_ , once Karl introduces his tongue to the inside of Chris' clenching asshole.

When Chris looks up again, he's dazed and sticky and Karl has a boner in his jeans that's the size of Australia.

"Please tell me you have plans to put that inside me," Chris says.

"Was thinking along those lines," Karl says. Then, because he's a goddamn superhero, apparently, he wraps his arms around Chris and hoists him over his shoulder, carrying him out of the room. "Bedroom's this way, right?"

"Yes, and _oh, my god_ , how are you doing this and why is it so hot?"

"It's nothing. You clearly don't eat when you're writing. You're like a twig. A hot twig, but nevertheless. I'll be making us a very large breakfast tomorrow."

"Fuck, yeah, talk dirty to me."

Karl deposits Chris on the bed and strips down before he gets to work, easily locating Chris' stash of lube and condoms. Funny how he hasn't had much use for the condoms in a long time. Not that Chris wants to think along those lines; not while Karl has two fingers inside him, stretching his ass in a way that leaves him panting. But still. They should probably talk. They should. Damn it to hell.

"You—you sure this is okay?" Chris asks.

Karl pauses and looks up. "What? Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all, just…everything that happened." He squints and licks his lips. "You said it was over."

"Forget it," Karl whispers. He leans down and kisses the corner of Chris' mouth, as if to chase after his tongue. "I was too hard on you. You're so...I mean, Nat told me what you said to her."

Chris swallows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I know I should have been more understanding, I just…"

"Getting hurt sucks," Chris says, finishing his thought. "I know. Believe me, I know. And I promise it'll never happen a—" His voice breaks when Karl nudges his fingers inside him with a devilish twist. "That was rude," he gasps. "But I liked it."

"I noticed." Karl withdraws his fingers and together, they hitch Chris' legs up over Karl's shoulders, allowing him to get into position. "Fresh start," Karl says, looking at him through darkened eyes. "You and me. You ready?"

Chris shivers and grins. "Fuck, yeah."

Karl's cock sinks in slowly and it feels as perfect as Chris remembers. They move languidly at first, finding an easy, slow rhythm, until Karl hits that sweet spot and Chris bucks and bears down, wanting more. Somehow, despite Chris' exhaustion and previous _ridiculous_ orgasm, Karl manages to bring him off again, with an unfaltering series of thrusts and a deft hand on his cock, stroking him at a maddening pace. Chris feels like a ragdoll as Karl pulls out gently and maneuvers him onto his side, only to slide in easily again and take what he wants—everything that Chris has to give him. And he wants Karl to have it. Chris presses his forehead to the mattress, undulates his hips and clenches around Karl on a perfect thrust. He relishes the way Karl's voice wavers as he moans Chris' name and the way he grips Chris' biceps as his cock pulses with his release.

In the end, they're both too tired to clean up after themselves. Chris knows he'll regret it in the morning, when he's sticky and gross, but right now, it's much more appealing to turn off the light and curl against Karl's side. Now that he's actually here, Chris isn't much for the idea of letting him go. He already knows that the "cheesy motel" isn't going to be Karl's home turf for much longer. But they can talk about that over breakfast. Mmm, breakfast. 

"Thanks for coming back," he murmurs into Karl's freckled shoulder. Karl hums and kisses the top of his head.

"Thanks for inviting me. I thought maybe you'd forget."

Chris would scoff if he weren't so tired. Instead, he wraps a leg around Karl's and smiles, drowsy and sated.

"Yeah, right. Couldn't forget you if I tried."


End file.
